


Heavy Is the Head

by agentx13 (rebelle_elle)



Category: Marvel, Marvel 616, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Eventual relationship, F/M, Gen, I Believe in Jasper Sitwell, Modern Royalty AU, for pretty much every relationship here, sharon carter appreciation month
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-01
Updated: 2015-03-31
Packaged: 2018-03-15 18:50:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 98,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3457943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rebelle_elle/pseuds/agentx13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A War has been waging for nearly seventy years, spreading across Europe and ultimately encompassing the entire world. Lines have been drawn; alliances have been made. Russia has already fallen, sending Natasha Romanoff to seek shelter, employment, and redemption with the Carters. More countries are on the precipice. But the War may not merely be a war fought on front lines. Queen Sharon and Duchess Peggy have noticed that too many of those loyal to them have died. They join forces with their spymaster, Nick Fury, to find out why. Meanwhile, in America, Prince James has returned from the War, trusting only his court painter, Steve Rogers, and his new bodyguard, Sam Wilson. But their enemies have had decades to plan, and now the enemies have a mysterious new benefactor. Can the royals and those loyal to them survive? Or will their enemies overthrow and destroy them?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

James heard voices in the hall and tensed on the pedestal, his eyes boring into the wall as if he could see through it if he tried hard enough. Sam quickly moved to the door, his hand on his gun. All of them were on edge these days; James had heard how relieved people were when he’d been rescued from the Front after months of captivity, and James marvelled that no one seemed to see him as merely a ghost of his old self, troubled by nightmares and loud noises. He was distracted easily, and when there was any sort of action he could hear but couldn’t see, he couldn’t concentrate on anything else. He wasn’t at all the man - the _boy_ \- who’d shipped out almost a year ago.

“It’s okay,” Steve consoled, even though his hand had stilled over the canvas. 

James was unconvinced. His eyes didn’t move away from the door as a light knock echoed.

Sam, a friend of Steve’s who’d become something of a bodyguard and possible friend to James since his return, opened it and moved to block the crack with his body. “May I help you, ladies?” Within seconds, he turned to James, then uncomfortably stepped aside to reveal a woman with straight red hair whose eyes roved around the room in search of dangers before settling on James. She gave a respectful nod and looked over her shoulder.

“ _Thank_ you, Natasha.” A blonde walked inside as if the palace belonged to her instead of the Barnes family, and it took James a moment to recognize her. Sharon. House of Carter. He’d seen her last shortly before he shipped out, but it felt like a lifetime ago. She’d grown up since then. He’d been accustomed to seeing her in jeans and sweatshirts, makeup applied haphazaredly when applied at all, her arms full of textbooks for school. Now, though, she wore a polished dress, her hair in an updo and her makeup perfect. What had happened to her while he’d been away? “Sorry, James. She’s been far more overprotective since my parents died.”

Ah. He inclined his head. “I was sorry to hear about that.”

“Liar,” she said, voice light. She stopped beneath him, looking up at him, and then walked in a slow circle around him. “You don’t care that they’re dead. I’m not even sure you knew.”

He’d forgotten how upfront and tactless she could be. James shifted uncomfortably and looked at Steve and Sam. Though Steve was only the court artist, and Sam not even his official bodyguard, he’d come to rely on them far more than the people his parents had tried to force on him. Steve had been his best friend since they were children. While James had been away, he’d apparently made friends with Sam, introducing the man to him when James got back home. Though it had been less than two months, James trusted Steve’s assessment and had come to agree that Sam was a good man. Though there were days when Sam could have been an elephant in a pink tutu and James wouldn’t have noticed. 

“I care that you don’t have them anymore,” he said at last, striving to sound civil and polite.

She rolled her eyes, but her expression softened. “Yeah. Well. Thanks. Are those your clothes for your welcome-home ball?”

He looked down at the tuxedo with its rich fabric and velvet trim. Janet van Dyne, his mother’s favorite designer, had designed the outfit, and though he knew it looked good, he found himself wishing he could wear almost anything else. The material was lush and soft and foreign. He hadn’t worn clothes this fine since before he’d shipped out, and it was a struggle to feel that he deserved them in any way. Before, he wouldn’t have even thought about it. Now, he could only see faces of people who would never wear clothes like this. “Yes. You’re attending?”

“Yep. My aunt sends her regrets and said to tell you that if she weren’t overseeing running the country, she would be here in a heartbeat.”

“That’s very kind of her.” The words were as automatic as repeating his name and rank. He was more caught up in how Sharon was going to be Queen soon. When he’d left, she’d still been in high school, still joking with him about their parents having more children so the two of them wouldn’t have so much pressure. Not that they’d ever really been jokes. Both of them were only children, or at least James was an only child again after his little sister, Rebecca, had died years before; both of them had grown up understanding that their lives would forever be heavy with responsibility. “Your dance card full?”

“Not since I stomped on the Duke of Bedford’s second-son’s foot accidentally-on-purpose. Show me.” She nodded to his arm.

He grimaced. “As subtle as ever.” She hadn’t even paused before changing the subject.

Her grin twisted. “You don’t want me to be subtle, James. I might be even scarier.”

He managed a weak grin at that, but before he could hold out his arm, Steve shouldered his way between them. “Do you mind? He doesn’t need to be pushed around, I don’t care who you are.”

James’s weak grin gained strength. Sharon had been a powerhouse since she was a child, the somewhat spoiled daughter of a pair of loving but distant parents who had sent her to study in the States rather than put up with her more than they had to. Steve might be just as much of a powerhouse in some ways, but he was also a scrawny artist with no muscle whatsoever who barely clocked in at a hundred pounds. Sharon looked like she could crush him just by glaring at him.

“Crown Princess Sharon of Carter,” she said regally, raising her nose in the air. She looked pained for a moment. “ _Queen_ Sharon. And this is Natasha Romanoff, my bodyguard.” Behind her, Natasha put a hand on her arm, and the pained expression on her face passed. 

Recognition dawned on Steve’s face, and he stammered, turning from her to James.

“I used to pee on him,” Sharon continued wickedly.

James groaned. “I forgot about that. They wanted that damn photo of the two of us and you weren’t potty-trained yet.”

“Or I didn’t like you,” she returned.

“You couldn’t have disliked me. You couldn’t have been a year old. You wouldn’t have even known who I was.”

“Three months. And I maintain that I was a good judge of character at an early age.” She shrugged and stopped herself from crossing her arms. “It came up all the time when I was growing up. Family joke.”

And one she didn’t seem to enjoy as much as she pretended. “I got you back, though. I ate all your candy that time we met in Switzerland.”

“And I hated you for it for years,” she said fervently. “That’s why I’m going to cockblock you so hard tonight.”

He laughed. No one had been so upfront with him since- well. It was good to hear again. 

She held out her hand. “Now show.”

Obediently, he held his hand out to her, and she ran her fingers up the metal as much as his sleeve would allow. He fell silent as she tested the agility of each finger.

“I heard you can still feel?”

He nodded. “Doctors Betty Ross and Tony Stark have been working on it with their team. Father told them to make sure the arm was good enough it would be as if I’d never lost it at all. They haven’t been able to replicate feeling yet, though.” And in truth, he’d taken to avoiding the pair of them. Betty was all right, and Stark’s personal assistant, Pepper Potts, was fine. But Stark saw him as an attachment to his latest great invention. James got the distinct impression that Stark would rather work on a metal arm without having to worry about the person it was attached to.

His father’s response to the whole thing upset him, too. He didn’t have to say that he wished his father would just acknowledge what had happened instead of glossing over it, but as she gave his hand a gentle pat, he knew she understood. Few people could, but people in line to the throne tended to understand each other, especially when it came to their parents, and it helped that they were close in age and had both grown up in the States.

“Bet you play a mean game of pattie-cake now,” she teased.

He chuckled. “And I can always offer people a hand. I went from being one down to having too many.”

“Mood arms,” she intoned seriously.

He huffed a laugh. “I’ll ask Stark to paint them different colors. But I’d better get back to the portrait. Save me a dance?”

“Can’t get out of it. Our PR people are already working on it. But I’m not going to pee on you this time. You’re going to have to do that yourself.” She looked at Steve. “And I’m going to dance with you, too. I want to see you squirm.” She smiled at James, grinned at Sam, and then swept from the room.

James resumed his position and prepared himself to hold still for another inordinate amount of time. Sam closed the door after Natasha and took up his post again.

Steve didn’t move back to the portrait, though. Instead, he stood and gaped after her. “What the hell is _that_ supposed to mean?” he demanded.

*

“You’ve got to be kidding,” Sharon muttered as Natasha handed her yet another knife.

“You know I’m not kidding.” As always, Natasha’s voice was calm but also brooked no argument. “Delegates from Russia are here, which means I might get distracted. I know your cousin is going to be here, but Fury said that there are likely more plots in motion now that you’re Queen, and I am _not_ going to let something happen to you on my watch.”

“Give a Russian spy a harbor,” Sharon sang. Nonetheless, she pulled up her skirt and slipped the knife into one of the bands Natasha had forced her to wear. “Want to strap some nukes to me while we’re at it?”

“A gag, maybe, but nukes would ruin the dress.”

Beth, Sharon’s maid, darted in between them and straightened Sharon’s skirt. Beth’s mother had been Sharon’s maid before passing away, and now that Beth had succeeded to the position, she always made sure Sharon not only was taken care of, but that she looked well at the same time.

Sharon’s mouth twisted. Natasha wasn’t much older than she was, but the woman’s capabilities were above question. In the three years since Natasha had been assigned as her bodyguard, Sharon had survived two kidnapping attempts, one assassination attempt, and three horrendous dates. More importantly, Natasha didn’t cry when Sharon talked to her, something not all of her bodyguards had managed. Natasha matched her bit for bit and had earned Sharon’s respect not just by doing an exceptional job, but by teaching Sharon more than the basic self-defense her parents had forced her to take. She owed Natasha her life several times over, and she knew it. If there was something more than her life, Sharon would owe that, too. The media wasn’t always kind to her, and Natasha not only kept mum about many of the things she saw but kept word from getting out, period. If Natasha wanted to tease her, she’d certainly allow it.

Natasha would make a much better Queen than she would. Yet another name on the list of people who would make a better monarch than she would.

Sharon studied her reflection in the mirror. Her PR team had debated for weeks about what dress she would wear, and Sharon could only imagine the arguments. It had to be something befitting the future Queen without overshadowing the States’ royal family. It couldn’t be scandalous in any way but also couldn’t be bland. In the end, they’d decided on a navy blue off-the-shoulder number. It was stylish, classic, and only saved from being bland by a sprinkling of jewels across the bodice. The best part was skirt that brushed along the floor. Sharon could wear trainers underneath with no one being the wiser. Except Beth, damn it. She wondered if she could talk Beth into keeping her mouth shut, but doubted it. Beth might be quiet, but she was more careful about Sharon’s title than Sharon herself was and would argue if she had to.

“Does Fury expect the trouble to die down after the coronation?”

“He didn’t say.”

Sharon sighed. “It won’t. After me, it’s just Antoine. There’s Rikki, I guess, but she’s closer to James’ line than mine, and, you know, three years old or something. I’m going to have to marry and have a crap-ton of kids to make sure we avoid civil war.” She stared at her reflection. Even pinching her cheeks didn’t make her face look less sullen. “To bring kids into this sort of life... I can see why people try to kill us.”

“ _Sharon._ ”

She shrugged and toyed with one of the curls, dropping it once she saw Beth tense in the mirror. “I can. I don’t appreciate people trying to kill me, but I can see why they would. They think we have more, and we do. Some people say we’re already extinct and just don’t know it yet.” She looked at Natasha in the mirror. “They murdered the Tsar’s family in Russia, you know.”

“They murdered a lot of families in Russia.” Natasha’s tone was flat. Sharon’s cheeks reddened as she realized what she’d said, but Natasha breezed over it and pointed to the vanity. “Now sit. Beth needs to do your hair, and I’m not sure I like your plan.”

Sharon grinned and sat, letting Beth do to her hair whatever the maid wanted. “I love my plan. James will love it.” She didn’t push the matter any further, though. Even though she technically outranked Natasha, she knew better than to flat out disobey or ignore her. She’d tested Natasha’s limits when Natasha had first been assigned to her and found that the spy could get very creative when it came to revenge.

*

Sam found Lieutenant Colonel Rhodes inspecting security for the ball. Though technically Rhodes had been called home from the Front to train new recruits, everyone understood that he played a large part in handling Howard Stark’s son. With the ball that night, both of them had been ordered to help set up for the ball as well as oversee security that evening. 

Rhodes barely glanced at him before sending off servants to fill a slew of balloons. “Wilson. Good to see you again. How is he?”

“The Prince is doing... as well as can be expected, sir. PTSD isn’t something that’s going to disappear overnight.”

“Think he’ll be able to manage tonight?”

Sam hesitated. “It’ll be the first time he’s been in a crowd of this size, sir. If his father had allowed him to acclimate himself gradually...”

Rhodes’ lips thinned. “Unfortunately, he decided against it. If you think things are getting to be too much, get him out until he recovers. I’ll distract the king.”

Sam clicked his heels together and gave a brief salute, then hesitated. “Steve Rogers being there will help, I think. And... Queen Sharon? Prince James saw her briefly earlier today. They seemed to get along.”

Rhodes was too accustomed to Court to let his shoulders fall, but his face showed more concern than he intended. “That woman is a tabloid magnet. They’ll probably have a dance together, but other than that, let’s keep them apart as much as we can.” He broke off when he saw Hauer nearby. “I’ll see you at the party. Your uniform pressed?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Then you have nothing to do except helping out in the kitchen. Do whatever the staff down there tell you to, but make sure they let you go at six so you can get ready and help the Prince get ready.”

Sam nodded. Though he hadn’t known James for long, they’d been able to bond a little through their experiences in the War. The only other person James seemed to feel comfortable around was Steve, and the two were more often than not assigned with his care. Not that Sam minded. “Yes, sir.”

*

This was the moment Natasha dreaded. She knew better than to ask Sharon if she had all her knives, not only because then anyone who heard would know Sharon was armed and would prepare accordingly, but because she _knew_ Sharon was armed, and she hated to see Sharon act glib about her own safety. At least Natasha had learned soon after becoming her bodyguard that it _was_ an act. Sharon understood what her safety meant, and she had learned the hard way all the various ways she could be hurt without being physically struck.

She was probably more concerned with those non-physical threats right now than Natasha was. Natasha had taught herself to read Sharon’s face the way some people taught themselves foreign languages. Right now, Sharon was counting the number of steps on the stair and anticipating the press that would be at the bottom, flashing lights in her face in the hope that she would trip and fall to the bottom.

Natasha was more concerned what would happen to her between Natasha handing her off to the States officials and meeting her again at the bottom of the stair. She didn’t trust the skill of the States’ security as well as she did her own. They weren’t charged with Sharon’s safety while they were there; Natasha was.

Worse, she had to watch her own back while she was here. She’d already spotted the delegates from Russia, but she knew they’d have new spies that she couldn’t identify somewhere in the crowd. Fury had said Lord Triplett would be good in a pinch, and since Triplett had saved Prince James from the insurgents, Natasha knew he was skilled. She just wasn’t sure she trusted him as much as Fury thought he could be trusted. He might not want to be regent, but that didn’t mean he was capable of the skills Natasha needed.

She glanced at Sharon, troubled by how still she was. Normally, if there was something troublesome she could do, Sharon would do it. She’d been the black sheep of her family for years; the media had speculated that she’d been crying out for attention, and Sharon, hating the attention, seemed to lash out in revenge as if challenging the press to come up with new ways to describe her brashness and loud behavior. But since her parents had died, Sharon had calmed down. No, there had been a change before that. Natasha wasn’t sure what had changed, but she could see that the coronation was pushing another change. Sharon was starting to act more like a queen. More responsible. Quieter. Keeping more of her thoughts to herself.

Natasha felt like she was losing a friend.

The feeling was ridiculous, of course. Sharon wasn’t a friend. She was the Queen, and Natasha had agreed to serve her, to keep her secrets, and if necessary, to lay down her life for her. Even knowing as many secrets as she did about Sharon - and she knew many - she knew there were worse sovereigns to serve.

“You good?”

Sharon rolled her eyes, and Natasha fought the urge to smile. Not a queen yet. “I’ll see you downstairs, Natasha.”

Natasha nodded and moved to where Phil Coulson stood. Though Fury knew Coulson was an agent for the House of Barnes and likely part of their intelligence network, he’d told Natasha that he didn’t know who the States’ spymaster was. It could have been Coulson. She drifted in close and pressed her lips almost to Coulson’s ear. “If something happens to her on your watch, I will hold you personally responsible.” She trusted her words carried every iota of the threat she intended, and she took the servants’ stairwell down below without a glance back except to check on Sharon one last time.

*

Skye didn’t belong here. For one thing, nearly everyone in the dimly-lit room was wearing black, and most of them were twice her side and had muscles nearly as big as her head. Skye wore a lilac top and was thinking that if oversized arms was a side effect of exercise, she wanted nothing to do with it. For another thing, it didn’t help that there was only one other woman in the room, and Hill was so damned professional that Skye had only made two wisecracks with her before falling into an uncomfortable silence. She was only here because Coulson was busy tonight and had tasked Hill with babysitting her -something neither she nor Hill seemed to enjoy. Hill hadn’t moved her eyes from the wall of television monitors in front of them all night, but Skye didn’t doubt that if she tried to leave, Hill would be on top of her and handcuffing her to the chair in no time flat.

Skye tried to match her, pretending to take notes on the guests but actually drawing Sailor Moon doodles. She flipped a page as she heard the door open and more men stomp into the already-crowded room.

“If it isn’t the criminal kid,” one of the men announced, setting a heavy hand on the back of her chair.

She removed her boots from the desk and twisted to look up at him. He was taller than Coulson, the man who’d caught her and told her she could either have a job here or a room at a one-star prison, and he was stockier, too. She suspected he would _not_ have offered her a prison with a star ranking. “That obvious, huh?”

He glanced at her lilac top and shrugged. Skye made a face. It wasn’t as if she’d had time or inclination to shop for a security-style outfit. “Hacker, right?”

“Yeah. And before you ask, no, I’m not going to break into your ex’s cloud and get you nudes.”

He laughed. “I like you, kid. John Garrett.” He held out a paw, and she gave it a firm shake, unwilling to show anything that might be mistaken for fear or intimidation.

“Skye. Just Skye.”

“You see any way to hack some better equipment for us, do it,” he joked. 

“I’ll be sure to do that,” she answered with a smile. The thought had already occurred to her. The low resolution cameras had been irritating her all night.

He flashed her another friendly grin, surveyed the monitors briefly, and then turned to greet one of the security guards who had come in earlier. 

“Don’t even think about it,” Maria muttered darkly. She scribbled something in her notebook.

Skye sighed and put her feet up on the desk again. It was going to be a long night.

*

Steve tugged at his collar again. He hated these functions. His clothes always felt too big, even though Jan had tailored his clothes perfectly. He was an artist who could never get the paint out from under his nails, who had never managed to wash off all the paint and charcoal that stained his fingers. He didn’t belong in a world where red, white, and blue balloons floated over each table and the night sky was projected on the ceiling- Stark tech to make people think they were outside. Beautiful, but sure to have the younger Stark boasting about how brilliant he was before his second drink. 

Speaking of drinks, he could use a stiff one himself. If he weren’t such a lightweight, he’d already be on his third one instead of nursing his ginger ale. But no, he had a dance with a queen that he’d just met who had bossed his prince and best friend around. If he weren’t concerned with what diplomatic disputes might arise if he bailed, he’d go back to the portrait. 

Oh, damn it. And there was Tony Stark, regaling a table with tales of his genius, no doubt, and ignoring the man behind him who was desperately trying to get his attention. Steve vaguely recognized the man from some of the other state dinners. One of the university professors, he thought. 

He walked over and stood at the man’s elbow. “Sir. Sir? May I help you?”

The man, bald and bearded, wire-rim glasses perched firmly on his nose, and wearing a threadbare suit, barely glanced at him before looking back to Stark. “No, thank you. I was hoping to speak with Mr. Stark.”

“You won’t get through,” Steve said, trying to make the words kinder than they would inevitably sound. He didn’t mind the older Stark so much, other than his womanizing, but the younger Stark especially grated Steve’s nerves. At least Howard Stark was nice to people. In his own world most of the time, but when he actually noticed people, he wasn’t an asshole. Tony was only genuinely kind to perhaps two people, and he seemed to think everyone else only existed to make him look superior. “Tony Stark’s got women looking at him. Maybe I can introduce you to someone else who can help?”

Tony still hadn’t taken any notice of them, instead focusing more on Fujikawa’s attractive daughter. 

The man glanced between him and Stark several times before he finally dropped his shoulders. Then, hopeful, he asked, “A professor, perhaps?”

“I know professors,” Steve confirmed. He waved a hand toward a table before leading the way. Once they got to the table where many of the university professors sat, he nodded to them. “May I introduce Doctors Ross, Selvig, Hansen, Hammer, and...” He looked at the last person at the table, embarrassed that he couldn’t introduce him as well. “I’m sorry, I don’t think we’ve met.”

“Erskine,” the man replied. “I’m new. This man is a professor, too?”

“Dr. Ho Yinsen,” the man beside Steve replied quickly. “It is an honor to meet you all. May I?”

Erskine pushed a chair out with his foot. “Of course. Please.” He looked up to Steve, though Steve noted wryly that he didn’t have to look up much; Steve was probably the shortest guy in the room. “Thank you, young man.”

Steve nodded. “My pleasure, sir.” 

Knowing from experience he should go before they started asking his thoughts about their various specialties - Selvig especially could get overly enthusiastic - Steve looked around for an escape and grinned when he saw Sam. Like so many in the room, Sam was a veteran of the War. Steve would never say so, but he was a little jealous of Sam. Of course, he was jealous of all the men and women in the military. He’d tried to enlist as soon as he’d turned eighteen. Who wouldn’t? The War had been going on for decades, and everyone had been forced to step up and do their part. He had a duty to help people, just like everyone else. But his reputation had preceded him, and no one had been willing to give the ninety-pound asthmatic with an assortment of illnesses a chance. So he stayed at the White Palace, painting people who had actually done something with their lives.

He wandered over to Sam and planted himself firmly at his friend’s side. Sam was good with people, better than Steve could ever hope to be. Most people walking by either seemed to gravitate naturally toward Sam or pivot to greet him as soon as they saw him, and Steve was content being ignored. Very few of them paid any attention to him, and those who spoke to him had either known him for years or had seen his work. Steve didn’t mind talking about painting, and there were a couple times he found that he was almost enjoying himself.

Through the night, he had ignored the incessant announcements of arrivals, but when it got to Queen Sharon’s, his shoulders drooped. He didn’t dare turn to look at her, still angry at how she’d spoken to James and worried that her good mood with him at the time might have dried up since. Though James’ family wasn’t like that, Steve had lived at the palace long enough to see many royals and delegates who treated people like playthings.

Sam clapped him on the back. “Your date just got here, Rogers.”

“Shut up, Wilson.”

Sam grinned. “There’s the shadow.” He nodded to the redheaded woman across the room who was currently staring at Sharon like a hawk. She’d worn a plain black dress and curled her hair for the festivities. If not for her bright red bob, he doubted anyone would even notice her. “What’s her deal, anyway? I mean, I know she’s the Queen’s bodyguard, but you’d think they’d have more bodyguards for her, you know?”

Steve managed a weak smile. “You still haven’t learned about the important people, have you.”

Always good-natured, Sam shrugged and leaned in to listen better. “Fill me in.” 

“Her bodyguard is Natasha Romanoff. Word is that she may have fled Russia when the revolutionaries took over, or she might be pretending and spying on the Carter family for the Axis. Sharon doesn’t have much family outside of her aunt, the Dowager Duchess, who’s currently running things back home, and a cousin, Lord Antoine Triplett, who’s right over there. His unit is the one that saved James from the Rings.” He pointed to a man across the room who was currently chatting easily with a group at a table, most of them in uniform and all of them seemingly in good spirits. “Even if she weren’t protected by a bodyguard and a cousin, and, you know, a country being capable of waging war if something happened to her, the King and Queen would still protect her. She’s visited with them a lot since staying in the States. Her mother and the Queen were good friends, so when Queen Sharon was sent here to study, the Queen looked after her. Word is, the Queen gave up when Queen Sharon kept making headlines for partying. Also, the Dowager Duchess is close to Howard Stark. There were actually rumors she had his kid, though those rumors haven’t been confirmed.” He frowned around the room. “Queen Sharon isn’t really popular.Her parents were too bland for most people to care about. But she’s been in and out of the press for romantic liaisons and partying and drinking and stuff like that for years. She’s never served in the War. Most people wish she were more like her aunt- Duchess Margaret is popular for a reason.”

“And you didn’t even recognize her earlier, did you,” Sam teased. “The man in the know...”

Steve glared at him. “She didn’t exactly have a crown on her head. And she’s changed a lot since her parents died. She hasn’t appeared in public much since.” He frowned. “It was the updo. I’ve never seen her with one of those. It makes her nose look bigger.”

“Okay, okay. You were focused on your work and weren’t expecting to change gears, I get it. How’s the portrait coming?”

“I’ve got the bases done, and the background. Most of the clothes. His face is the hardest.” He looked away, his fingers tightening on his glass.

“Because he doesn’t look like the James you remember,” Sam said in understanding.

“He does!” Steve grimaced. That had been a little too quick. “Except for how he doesn’t.” His shoulders slumped again. “I want to see him as he really is,” he admitted. “But I’m not sure I’ll like what I’ll see.”

Sam nodded. “I get it. Ever since Riley, I haven’t been the same. And what James went through... that leaves scars. Not just physical ones. But it’s good you’re trying, Steve. You see how upset he gets when his dad pretends none of it happened. You’re not pretending. He appreciates it.”

Steve snorted and scratched his head. He took a sip of his drink and shifted his weight. “You on guard duty all night?”

“It’s what I do best,” Sam joked. “Though if I get some time off, I’m looking foward to meeting some people. Hoping Dr. Foster will introduce me to that alien friend of hers.”

“Norse god,” Steve interjected quickly. “He’ll be good about it, but it isn’t polite to call him an alien. He’s a god.”

“Right,” Sam said slowly, disbelieving. He tensed when he heard the crier bang his staff against the floor, and his hand automatically went to his sword. Only perimeter guards were allowed to have guns at State functions, and even though the sword was mostly only for decorative use, Steve didn’t doubt Sam would find a way to use it if he had to.

*

He hated the attention. James knew that he’d have to get used to it when he was king, but his dad had pushed him to get used to it for as long as he could remember. And now, here he was, being officially announced at a ball held in his honor when the honor should have gone to people who would never see their families again. All he’d lost was an arm. And yet he was supposed to look people in the eye. He hated it. He hated himself.

From the top of the stairs, he gave his parents the customary bow before seeking out Steve and Sam. He felt more assured, if not better, as soon as he saw them. It was easier to walk down the stairs when he didn’t think of all the people staring up at him and instead focused on those two lone faces.

As soon as he touched the ground, the music began, and James suppressed a grin as he saw Sharon trip one of the court ladies to be the first to grab James’ arm. He swept her onto the dance floor, knowing that with Sharon, he had little choice. He flinched as camera flashes went off around them. He hadn’t seen so many at once since the press had met the plane when he’d come home. He swallowed thickly and concentrated on spinning Sharon away from the cameras; around them, others started dancing, further obscuring the flashes. Slowly, James began to relax.

“Glad I caught you,” she said, seemingly unaware of how appropriate her words were. James suspected most of the women in the room were trying to catch him. Oddly, Sharon, one of the few women in his life that he felt comfortable with, was ineligible. They were each the sole heirs of their kingdoms and thus, unable to marry one another. He suspected it was yet one more reason how they’d managed to become friends. It was difficult to be friends with other royals when they were constantly under pressure to marry.

Halfway through the dance, she pulled him off the floor and toward one of the doors. A man and woman pressed themselves against the wall, looking completely uncomfortable. He couldn’t blame them. They looked like they’d just gotten off a plane. Their shirts were wrinkled, and they had the slightly frazzled and defeated look that went hand-in-hand with air travel. The woman’s brown hair had started to frizz slightly, and the man’s curls were askew.

“James, this is Jemma Simmons, and this is Leo Fitz. They’re two of our best scientists back home. I asked them here to see if they could work with your people to help with your arm.” Each of them greeted him nervously, with Simmons giving him a shaky curtsy, and he sighed as he noticed they still had luggage with them. Sharon had tried to get them here so quickly they hadn’t even had time to give their luggage to one of the servants.

“That’s very kind of you,” he murmured. 

Sharon frowned at him. For someone who rarely adhered to politeness, she could read the subtext behind it like a pro. She wasn’t one to be turned down politely, either. “James. They’re not- tell them what you want. They’re my people, so your father can’t make them do anything, and it will be my welcome-home gift to you, so he won’t be able to turn it down. It would be terribly rude to offend a queen such as myself, you know.”

He felt a grin tugging at his lips. He wasn’t as certain as she that his father would accept, but he certainly appreciated the thought behind it. “I accept.” He looked to the two scientists. “Dr. Elizabeth Ross has been working on my arm so far, along with Dr. Anthony Stark. One of the servants can help you get settled and show you to Dr. Ross or Miss Potts, Mr. Stark’s... partner.”

“Handler,” Sharon said at nearly the same time. As Fitz and Simmons glanced at each other, she continued. “Wrangler. Babysitter.” She spotted Steve across the room and shifted gears without a breath. “Hey, that’s the guy who thought I was a bitch or something, isn’t it?”

He looked over his shoulder and sighed when he saw Steve’s profile. “He’s been overprotective of me since I got home.”

“So’s everyone,” she said dryly. “Tell me about him on the floor.” She tugged him back to the dance floor. “I can’t dance with him until I finish with you, so let’s get this over with.”

“I don’t know what I’m going to do if all the girls are as nice to me as you are,” he complained.

*

Natasha skirted along the dance floor, one eye firmly on Sharon, the other on the lookout for threats. The man who ghosted to block her path appeared quickly enough that she almost didn’t have time to stop. Almost. “Vanko.”

The name was said like a curse, but the burly man with his hair back in a ponytail treated it like a compliment. He reached out to brush her hair off her shoulders. “Natalia.” She leaned back, disgusted by how her name sounded on his lips. She had become accustomed to people sexualizing her; hell, she’d even used it as a weapon at times. But he said her name as a lover would, and the depth he added to it disgusted her. His hand continued moving toward her, heedless. “You are wanted at home.”

“Why don’t you go and tell them to wait for me?” she suggested. “They can hold their breath until I get there.”

Vanko chuckled. “You know better, dorogaya moya. They do not request your presence. They command it.” Though his fingers now stroked her curls, she heard the threat in his voice.

“I’m busy, Vanko. Tell them I have more important concerns than dusty old men.”

He leaned in and spoke more quietly. She forced herself not to back away, though what she really wanted was to attack him. She could break his larynx and stuff him under a table; no one would know for hours. “Your schedule will open soon, Natalia. You are a daughter of Russia. You will come back to us. You are a Widow, a soldier of our great country. Do not forget that.” He spun, and despite his large size, disappeared into the crowd with ease and grace.

She stared after him, chilled despite the almost oppressive heat in the ballroom. Fury had heard whispers of something on the horizon. With the threats he had to deal with every day, neither he nor she had been particularly concerned. She’d have to tell him the threats were more viable than they’d believed.

She quickly checked on Sharon again and found her dancing with the prince as blithely as ever. If she had noticed anything amiss, it was impossible to tell. 

She headed toward the table where she’d seen Antoine and stood in his line of sight, staring at him until he excused himself and joined her. Antoine, next in line for the throne if something happened to Sharon, had been at the top of Natasha’s suspicious persons list when she’d first begun guarding Sharon, but he’d proven himself loyal not just to his country but especially to his cousin. He seemed to be a genuinely good man, and his wish not to inherit the throne meant he had a vested interest in keeping Sharon safe. She just wished she knew more about his abilities.

Once he was near enough, she bowed her head and lowered her voice. “I need you to get a message to the Dowager Duchess. I’m being watched.”

Unlike most people, Antoine didn’t seem tempted in the least to look around for anyone who might be watching them. His calm demeanor didn’t slip. Maybe he would be better at this than she’d thought. “Then the dance floor is the best place. We’ll pretend I asked you to dance.”

She nodded and offered her hand. “It’s a good pretense.”

“Because I just asked you to dance,” he pointed out. He took her hand and broke into the dance pattern with the ease of someone who had grown up at Court. “And you accepted.”

She frowned at him. Charm. As if she had the time right now. “ _Anyway._ ” He gave his eyes a slight roll but listened as she filled him in. When the music stopped, she was relieved to find they were standing next to James and Sharon. She had to wonder if Antoine had planned it on purpose and found herself again wondering what skills he had.

“May I?” Antoine asked. He held out a hand to Sharon.

“Of course,” James said quickly. “I can’t keep her Majesty all night.”

“Not when her Majesty has to tease a kid with low opinions of her,” Sharon agreed. She took Antoine’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “Take me over there. Steve Rogers. Court artist.”

Antoine cursed softly and looked to James. “What did the poor guy do?”

James sighed. “He tried to stop her from bugging me, and now she’s on a mission.”

“Revenge is mine,” Sharon intoned dramatically. “So if you’ll excuse me.” She picked up her skirt and disappeared in the crowd, nearly yanking Antoine off his feet when he didn’t move quickly enough. 

Natasha moved to follow, only to find a hand in her way. She looked at it for a moment, then up to James, who looked at her for another moment before dropping his hand.

“Sorry,” James murmured. “I thought you- that we’d-”

The music started again, a waltz that struck Natasha as familiar although she couldn’t quite place it.

“I’m a commoner,” she explained.

“It’s a dance, not a marriage contract,” he pointed out.

She looked at him, then at the couples who had begun dancing around them. She checked on Sharon to make sure she was safe with Antoine, then sighed. “Let’s get this over with.”

He made a face. “I’m getting that a lot tonight.”

*

“ _You._ ”

Steve recognized the voice. Worse, he recognized the tone. All this work not to offend anyone, and here he was, offending the worst person he could possibly offend. He looked to Sam for support, only to find that Sam had turned away to hide his smile and his shoulders were shaking in laughter. 

Steve needed new friends. 

He turned slowly, debating what he ought to say and how he ought to say it. He had several choice phrases already memorized. When he saw her, though, he froze. Sharon wore a midnight blue dress that cinched at her waist before flowing out in yards of cloth with diamonds in the embroidery. She wore a jeweled bracelet, a necklace with a small diamond hanging beside a locket, and her hair had been piled up to make her neck seem longer. She looked rich enough even without the dainty crown on her head to denote her position.

It almost made her nose look better, he thought uncharitably.

“Your Majesty.”

“Don’t ‘your Majesty’ me,” she said firmly. She heard a laugh that was quickly stoppered, and she glanced behind Steve. “Oh, hi,” she greeted Sam absently. “Sam, right? Good to see you again.” Introductions evidently over, her wrath returned. “You and I are supposed to dance together. Tonight. And I don’t appreciate that you didn’t approach me about it earlier. I’ve been here nearly half an hour now.”

“I’m- I’m a commoner, though,” Steve managed. Where had the rest of his speech gone? He’d had this planned out. Had she gotten taller since he’d last seen her?

“You stood up to me about James. So we’re dancing. It’s that simple.”

He stared at her in confusion. “Wh- what?”

She shook her head. Evidently, she had no plans to explain. “When this song is over, I’m finding you, or you’re finding me. We _are_ dancing tonight.” She lifted her chin and strode over to the drinks. 

Once she was gone, he turned to Sam. “ _What. Just. Happened?_ ”

Sam burst into laughter, and Steve glared at Sharon at the drink table. The guests around it eyed her warily, though if she noticed, she showed no sign. They probably wouldn’t dance with her, Steve thought. He was the only person she could bully into dancing with her, the only one stupid enough to agree.

*

“We’re not dressed for this, Fitz.”

“But Simmons! They have free drinks! And look. That’s Dr. Ross over there. She’s the one we’re supposed to talk to. The Prince himself said to talk to her.”

“And Miss Potts.”

“Potts isn’t a scientist, though,” Fitz argued. He and Simmons stood watching the ball through a cracked-open door. He had eyes on Ross and the open bar. Simmons had eyes on Ross and the clothing. Neither of them had clothes that were suitable for a grand ball, though she seemed to be the only one of the two of them who cared.

“No, she’s the scientist’s handler. Minder. Whatever. The point is, we need to talk to her. It would be bad form to talk to Dr. Ross without her or Mr. Stark.”

“Fine, fine. But why don’t we just ask Dr. Ross where Miss Potts is? Then we can wait to talk with them both while we try some of those beers. Oh my God.”

“What is it?”

“They have Argentinian stouts. Simmons. You know I’ve been wanting to try those.”

Simmons rolled her eyes. “Only so you can talk about how much better the stouts are back home.”

“Yes, and be able to back it up with facts. We have to get one, Simmons. We can drink them after we introduce ourselves to Dr. Ross.”

“Maybe we should let the Queen introduce us,” Simmons fretted.

“May I help you?” They both turned to see a balding man in a perfectly pressed suit and a smile that seemed both knowing and harmless. Neither of them trusted smiles like that; they’d seen it on too many teachers’ faces after they’d shown the teachers up. “I’m Mr. Coulson. I’m with palace security. If you’re looking for someone...”

“Found someone,” Simmons said quickly. “I mean, we found her. We’re here for Dr. Ross. I mean- Not here for her in a bad way. Not like we’re going to kidnap her.” She laughed nervously. “We’re here for the Queen to talk to Dr. Ross. Here to talk to Dr. Ross for the Queen, I mean.” She looked to Fitz. Why, oh why, did she have to get nervous around authority figures? She didn’t do well with authority figures. They both knew it. Why had he let her speak?

“Queen Sharon rented us out for a project,” Fitz offered, hoping that it was concise and firm enough to allow them a pass. He didn’t want to get put in some sort of palace jail on his first night here just because Simmons was nervous about getting in trouble.

“Of course.” 

Fitz and Simmons looked at each other. The man, Coulson, seemed almost amused. But the important thing was that he wasn’t trying to stop them. They nearly fell through the door in their haste to get to the other side.

“Not coming out of the lab for a week after this,” Fitz said firmly.

“Wait!” Simmons grabbed his arm as they passed the bar. “Get me one, too, would you? One of the Australian ones. That way we can expand our beer samples and gather more evidence that English beers are better. I’ll talk to Dr. Ross.”

“Scottish are best.” Fitz gave her a rueful look but got in line nonetheless. Neither of them had ever been able to convince the other to admit defeat, but one day, he’d gather enough evidence to prove once and for all - even to her - that Scottish drinks were the best. It was only a matter of time.

He’d only just made it to the table and handed her the beer she’d requested when he heard Dr. Ross say, “What do you think about metal that can feel?”

“I think I’m in love,” he said without thinking. Seeing them both stare at him, he fumbled with his beer for a moment. “Um. With the idea. It’s a- I like the idea.”

*

“Did Coulson just threaten them?” Skye wondered aloud.

“He _was_ smiling,” Maria said calmly. She took a deep breath as she listened to the men laughing behind them. Some drunk kid had already tried to sneak in, and some of their security buddies had given him a beating in the bushes before sending him on his way. If she ever got the clearance to fire them all, she was going to do it.

Skye leaned forward and pulled up the scientists’ files.

“You’re not supposed to access those.”

“Oh, come on, Hill. Have some fun.” Skye’s eyes ran over the screen; Maria was loathe to admit it, but she was doing the same. She might not be a huge fan of how Coulson had hired the girl, but Skye _did_ make information-gathering faster, and she was curious about the two scientists Queen Sharon had called in at the last second. “Holy crap,” Skye muttered.

Maria made a quiet sound in agreement. Both Leo Fitz and Jemma Simmons had multiple degrees from Oxford and St. Andrews. They had won multiple scholarships, multiple awards, written an extensive list of papers, and were already being hailed as two of the greatest minds in their generation. They weren’t even twenty-four. 

“They are seriously smart,” Skye continued. “They have patents on stuff. I can’t even understand what most of those words mean. Can you?”

Maria frowned and went back to making notations. “Don’t let it intimidate you. They don’t know computers as well as you do. They probably wouldn’t understand half the things you say,” she said briskly. “Now take those off-screen. They aren’t threats, and we need to concentrate on people who are.”

Skye stared at her. After a moment, Maria stared back. “That’s the first nice thing you said to me,” Skye said slowly.

Aw, crap.

Skye smiled brightly. “I’m getting through!”

“I don’t have to report whether or not I’ve fired my gun,” Maria reminded her. Skye turned away, and Maria tried not to notice how damned happy she continued to look.

*

“You should have told me you were such a bad dancer,” Sharon told him. Both of them watched their feet, Steve so he wouldn’t step on hers, and Sharon to make sure he didn’t step on hers.

“I tried! I got to the part where I said I was a commoner. But you wouldn’t let me talk any more than that!”

“Still could’ve mentioned it,” she teased, pulling her foot back at the last second. “Did you do that on purpose?”

“No,” Steve said, exasperated. “I can’t even see your feet with them in that dress!”

“Point.” She didn’t seem troubled in the slightest. It was becoming the most frustrating thing about her.

“Why’d you insist on dancing with me, anyway? I told you I was a commoner.”

She closed her eyes; Steve got the impression that behind those lids, her eyes were rolling. “Most of the current royal generation are only children. I only have two cousins - one indirect and another so indirect and young that I just send her a gift on her birthday and at Christmas. Most of the noble lines have dwindled or died out altogether. Sons and daughters lost to the War, accidents, illness... It’s hard to find a lord or a lady these days to dance with. So it’s either commoners or sitting for hours on end and not having any fun.”

“So you’re dancing with me because there weren’t enough nobles to dance with.” Could he like her any less?

She smiled, still unperturbed. “I’m dancing with you because I thought I’d enjoy it.” She winced as he stepped on her dress again. “But I’ve been wrong before.”

He bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself from snapping at her. They finished the dance in silence, and as soon as the music stopped, he moved away and bowed. He left before she finished thanking him in a tone far too polite to be genuine.

*

James sat heavily in one of the smaller atriums down the hall from the ballroom. He’d lasted longer than he thought he would, in large part because of Sam, Steve, and Antoine. It hadn’t hurt that he’d been able to talk to Sharon and Natasha from time to time, either, though Sharon had done most of the talking. It was only so long before the heat and the crowd got to him, and he’d slipped out through a side door and found a quiet place to sit.

He leaned forward and buried his face in his good hand as sweat dampened his collar. His breath was coming too quickly and he forced himself to take a deep breath and hold it. He wasn’t on the Front anymore. He was fine. He wasn’t watching his friends die. Everyone here was alive and weirdly happy, given what was happening halfway across the world. The noise was from their talk and laughter, not shouting under fire. They were fine. He was fine. Everything was fine. So long as he didn’t think about the War, everything was fine. The ringing in his ears would stop and he could go back to the ball as if nothing had happened.

The other end of the couch sank as someone sat, and James looked up in alarm.

“I confess I need a moment of quiet,” Thor said, almost as if he was apologizing.

James gave him a grin that wasn’t entirely forced. “You and me, both.”

Thor offered a smile in return, but he didn’t seem inclined to say anything more. For that, James was grateful. They fell into silence, and the sweat along James’ hairline began to dry. Unfortunately, the silence couldn’t last forever. “I was sorry to hear about your experience in the War.”

“You and me, both.” James’ voice was dry. People either opened with that conversation starter and changed the subject or pursued it harder than was polite. To Thor’s credit, at least he seemed somewhat uncomfortable broaching the subject.

“In Asgard, we have the Valkyrie. When we wage war, they choose the honorable fallen soldiers and take them to Valhalla, a warrior’s eternal heaven. I have little doubt your fallen are in your Valhalla.”

James grinned wryly. “We don’t really celebrate our soldiers the way your people seem to, Thor.”

Thor gave a slow nod of agreement. “In my youth, I thought war would give me glory. I did not realize how much greater peace could be. I overlooked that the best kings fight for peace, not glory. You were wiser than I was, my friend.”

He snorted out something that could have been considered a laugh. “I was a stupid kid that wanted to prove I was no different from my people.” He looked at his artificial arm and shook his head. “I ended up getting them killed and almost plunging the country into civil war. If they had killed me, my parents would have lost more than just their son.” He still had difficulty believing it. He had been kept from the utmost front lines. He’d had a fake name, his unit moved around constantly to avoid detection. And yet they had still found him.

Thor grasped his shoulder. “I understand. You blame yourself for the deaths of your friends, and not all the scars you bear can be seen. And yet, though it may matter little to you, I am honored to have met you, Prince James. It is good to make the acquaintance of one who understands that war is about more than glory.”

He lowered his head and studied his shoes. “James,” he murmured at last.

“James.” Thor nodded. “Then you must call me Thor.”

*

“Looks like you’ve had another excellent night, Tony.” Howard sounded even more tired than he looked, but he pulled a chair nearer nonetheless. “Another night of making sure the family name survived unscathed.” His tone was caustic.

Despite his hours of drinking, Tony hadn’t lost his ability to think, though he had lost the ability to walk. All his thoughts now turned to fleeing his father. He couldn’t feel his legs, and even if he could, it might take a couple tries to guess which doorway was the real one; the “go for the one in the center” plan didn’t work when they constantly moved. He suspected his father knew how inebriated he was and had planned accordingly. The joke was on him - Tony could crawl if he needed to. The better plan, though, would be to make his father leave. He had a pretty good idea that if Howard saw Tony crawling on all fours, Tony wouldn’t be allowed to forget it any time soon. “May I point out, Father dearest, that by the time I got the name, there wasn’t much honor left attached to it?”

Howard shoved his hands into his pockets.

As the silence stretched between them, Tony smirked. “What’s the matter, Pop? Did you think I’d fawn over you like the rest of them?”

His father got to his feet. “I just thought you’d be less of a ass.” His shoulders slumped, and he turned away. “I’ll ask the King to let you stay here tonight. But I have work to do.”

“Of course you do. You always have work to do.”

“I’ll see you at the next party. Hopefully sober.” Howard turned, then paused. “Every father wants his son to surpass him in all the right ways, Tony.” He dropped his hat onto his head. “Good thing you’ve inured me to disappointment.”

Tony wasn’t able to think of a comeback in time, and when the palace guard visited the next morning to tell him about his father’s accident, he decided he didn’t want to think at all.

*

“How did you get in here?” the voice demanded. 

Loki turned to face the speaker and bowed. There was a hint of mockery in the gesture. “Herr Schmidt. Magic, of course.” He smiled in appreciation of his skills and hid the smile with an incline of his head. “I’ve been following your exploits. If only your men hadn’t allowed Erskine to escape.”

Schmidt held his hands behind his back, the very picture of a militarized dictator. “You wish to taunt me? I am aware of your exploits as well. You are called Loki. Your brother humiliated you in an American town.”

“I’m adopted,” Loki said pleasantly, unwilling to betray his true thoughts on the matter. “But I did not come here to argue, Herr Schmidt. I came to offer my assistance.”

The lips of Schmidt’s mask twisted downward. “And why should I trust an Asgardian?”

Loki held Schmidt’s eyes for several seconds before shrugging. “A fair question. I suppose it’s because I have followed my brother’s example in taking an interest in Midgard. Only - in case you haven’t noticed - I don’t like my brother very much.” He smiled at his own joke. “Understatement,” he explained. “Besides, I saw your work in Russia. Brillaintly played. Overthrowing your own boss, overthrowing other countries, letting people think others are still in charge until you’re ready to make your move. Brilliant. Truly brilliant.”

He swept around the room, as relaxed as an honored guest might be. “But to do it alone would be costly to your side. Possibly too costly. That’s why I would like to help. The more the people of this planet suffer, the more my brother suffers. And to be honest, I desperately want to be a part of something that causes my brother pain.” He smiled to himself. Normally, when he proclaimed his honesty, he was lying with everything he had. Now that he knew of his background, his true background, he didn’t have to lie about wanting to hurt Thor or the other Asgardians. They had taken too much from him for him not to want to hurt them.

Schmidt was quiet for several minutes. Loki had been prepared to wait while Schmidt pondered the offer, but after he had finished inspecting the fourth set of bookshelves, he admitted that he was almost nervous.

“And how,” Schmidt said slowly, “do you intend to help Hydra?”

“With this.” Loki swept a hand from his sleeves, pulling out the Tesseract. “Surely your scientists can figure out how to weaponize a potentially limitless power source, yes?”

Schmidt’s eyes fell on the Tesseract. After a long stretch of silence, Loki innocently moved the Tesseract to the desk; Schmidt’s eyes followed it, and he grinned to himself.

“Yes,” Schmidt said at last. “Of course. Hydra has the brightest minds in the world. We will win easily.”

Loki smiled cheerfully. “I suspected as much.”

Schmidt was on the hook. Good. Now to move forward with the rest of his plan.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pieces come together. More deaths. Sharon hires someone new. Coulson wants something that may put him at odds with Natasha Romanoff. James pays Sharon back. Pepper and Rhodey are concerned about Tony.

Fury read the report of Howard Stark’s death with a frown. “Accident,” he muttered darkly. “One accident is a coincidence. And we’ve had too many damn accidents lately. This is really starting to piss me off.”

Margaret, the Dowager Duchess - Peggy to friends and family - plucked the report from his fingers. “Won’t bring any of them back to life,” she said. She’d always been the most sensible and pragmatic of the Carters. When the crown had passed to her younger brother, many had complained that perhaps the crown should start going to women after all. Despite not sitting on the throne herself, though, she had become one of the major powers behind it. “We’ll just have to poke around and see if our suspicions pan out. Has Sharon seen this? If she’s even awake yet. She should at least send a card. Perhaps some flowers.”

Fury scratched the skin beneath his eyepatch. The weather had finally started to turn, and the cold made his scars itch. “The Queen is in the States now, ma’am.” Sharon had been in the States for days; Peggy knew that.

“Ah, right. Then she’ll know all about it.” Peggy frowned and sank into a chair, her focus on the file.

Fury stared at her. It wasn’t the first slip he’d caught in recent months. He sighed and went back to his work. He’d have to talk to Sharon about the incidents he’d notice. Neither of them were going to enjoy the conversation.

*

James glanced at Natasha as Sharon hugged his parents. While he’d been away at school and the army, Sharon had oftentimes stayed with his parents. The three of them certainly seemed closer now than when he’d last seen them together. His parents seemed more comfortable with her than they did with him, that was for sure. His mother had hugged her at least three times and was in the middle of dispensing yet more queenly advice.

“I’m sorry you have to go so soon,” he told the redhead. Green eyes instantly focused on him, and he swallowed at their intensity. “It was a pleasure having you here.”

She nodded. “I think Sharon enjoyed it.”

“And you?”

She shrugged. “I’m a bodyguard.”

He frowned. “Wow. Thanks for the positive review.”

As intense as she already was, her eyes managed to sharpen even more. “I’m not here for positive reviews.”

James sighed and turned to watch Sharon again, still deep in spirited conversation with his parents. Antoine waited to the side. The King and Queen had asked him to stay, and it seemed that he had agreed. He gave Sharon a firm hug when she finally got to him. He didn’t let go as they exchanged words and smiles. After he finally released her, she shook Sam’s hand enthusiastically and shared some words with him as well. Steve, standing sullenly nearby, was ignored completely.

James frowned. “Did something happen between those two? Steve doesn’t normally act like that, and Sharon isn’t exactly passive-aggressive. I’m not sure she even knows what ‘passive’ is.”

A corner of her lips twitched upward; the gesture was too short to be called a smile, though James still got the sense Natasha agreed with his assessment of Sharon. “They danced at the ball and have ignored each other ever since.”

He looked at her out of the corner of his eye. “And you wouldn’t tell me if Sharon said anything.” He took her silence to be answer enough. “Well, whatever it was, I apologize for him. He isn’t accustomed to dancing with girls. Or dancing. Or girls in general.” Was that a hint of a grin on her face? He blinked in surprise, but by the time he opened his eyes again, it had disappeared. He cleared his throat and gave Sharon another wave as she headed to the car; the two of them had already said their good-byes. “Thank you again for the dance.”

She nodded curtly and ghosted after Sharon.

He sighed and stayed with his family as they watched the car disappear down the drive. He wondered if this confusion was what Steve felt every time he tried talking to a girl.

*

Betty, Jemma, and Leo looked at James expectantly as he looked over the sketches they’d made. Most of the notes were gibberish to him, but Betty was doing an admirable job of translating them.

“We know you said you wanted an artificial limb that was obviously artificial, so we think this will do that while also behaving almost like a real arm,” she continued. “Fitz and Simmons have been working on a prototype, and we’ve had to work harder on the cellular and biochem aspects than the hardware part.” There was a hint of a smile. “But we think we’ve managed to put enough biochem in there to actually have it _act_ like a real arm, capable of sensing heat, even pain.”

James glanced at them sharply. He already had ghost pains. He wasn’t sure he wanted more pains on top of that, pain given to him by a goddamn metal arm. “You’re doing an excellent job of selling this so far, doctors.”

Jemma jumped in. “Pain is the body’s way of warning you of danger. It’s an important survival trait humans have developed, and frankly, your highness, given your position...” She hesitated, searching for the best words. James could appreciate her concern, even if he hated that she was so careful. They still all thought of him as the Crown Prince. He supposed he shouldn’t fault them for that, since they weren’t exactly allowed to forget it, especially in the palace. It was one of the reasons he’d signed up to serve in the first place, and look how well that had turned out.

“You need every warning you can get,” Leo jumped in.

“It’s still a little heavy, since it’s made of metal,” Betty explained. “But the Wakandan ambassador said he might know of something that could help.”

“It can also generate heat,” Jemma offered, waving her pencil over the sketch. “Low levels, due to the machinery inside. So it won’t feel cold, even in winter. Mind you, you’ll have to charge it every so often until we work out a long-lasting energy source capable of working on this scale, but we’re confident we’ll be able to soon.”

James nodded. If Tony Stark hadn’t jumped into the deep end of a bottle after his father had died, he would have been a good person to talk to about energy sources. But Tony didn’t seem interested in anything more than partying at the moment.

Betty looked at the other two. “There’s something else we think you’ll like.”

The other two hesitated, and James watched in fascination and a touch of admiration as the two seemed to communicate without even looking at one another. How did they do that? How long had they worked together to be able to have entire conversations with barely a glance?

“We’ve done more designs,” Jemma said at last. “Other limbs.”

James’ eyebrows rose in alarm. “I don’t really plan on losing any other limbs anytime soon. Maybe we’re getting ahead of ourselves?”

Leo shook his head and tried to explain. “Limbs for other people who need them. They wouldn’t be as advanced as yours. But they’d be move like real limbs and would stay warm and respond to thought like yours. Since each person is different, mass production is out of the question, but with these designs and materials, we think we can provide prosthetics more cheaply than they cost now.”

“We were just thinking,” Jemma spoke more quickly than before, waving her hands, “that with the War, there are plenty of people who lost limbs, and that this might... help?”

James kept his eyes on the designs until he could be certain his throat could work reliably. So many people had been focused on what he’d lost, on how he’d changed since he’d gone to the War; no one seemed to have thought about everyone else who’d lost a piece of themselves as well. Even James hadn’t thought of it. He’d only thought of the people he’d known who had died; he’d been too blind to consider the people who had survived as he had. It was wrong of him, and he’d have to make it right. “How soon could you start?” he asked slowly.

Betty looked at the others. “The Wakandan ambassador told us not to expect much, so... we’ll have yours by the end of the week or two for testing, and can start making them for other people... in a month?”

Jemma and Leo nodded. “Shouldn’t be a problem.”

James nodded and got to his feet. “We’ll see if my arm works. If it does, I’ll make the announcement about the prosthetics myself, and I’ll also foot the bill.” He looked at Jemma and Leo and swallowed thickly. “I owe you my thanks.”

They glanced at each other.

“Happy to help,” Jemma said at last.

“What we’re here for,” Leo agreed.

James gave another nod and left the room, only to find Coulson walking at his side as he left. “You should consider hiring them away from the Carters.”

James grinned wryly. “I don’t think Sharon would take that lying down. Speaking of whom, I owe her.” The grin widened. “And I know just what I’ll get her.”

*

Steve wondered if it could still be considered regicide if the royal in question was only a crown prince. He wasn’t even entirely certain what was happening. Had he upset James? Was that what was going on? All he knew was that he’d been sent abroad to work on Sharon’s coronation portrait. He hadn’t even had time to ask if he could just work from a picture instead.

And now here he was, with some guy named Sitwell looking him up and down. He got the distinct impression the guy didn’t like what he saw. “I’ll let her know you’re here. Wait here until someone comes to get you.”

Steve nodded and shoved his hands deeper into his pockets. This place was a far cry from home, and not just because the accents were different. The cab that had brought him here drove through slipshod streets on the wrong side of the road - when there was enough room for two lanes at all. The palace’s ceilings were lower, the furnishings and artwork older. There was more gild. Or- No. They wouldn’t have used real gold on everything. That would be insane. But he could appreciate that art had been inlaid into the walls itself, ornate stylings carved into the bannisters and trimmings. He wondered how many generations ago a monarch had decided to do that and whether he should incorporate something like that into the painting. The symbolism behind the real carvings would decide it, he supposed. People on the other side of the pond - er, _this_ side of the pond - seemed to like more archaic paintings, but Steve didn’t want to include a bunch of symbolism that he didn’t understand. He wanted-

Aw, crap. He’d probably have to talk Sharon out of having Roman ruins in her background, or from pointing at a globe like people in old portraits did.

After several minutes, he glanced at his watch. How long did it take to find the Queen, anyway? Or maybe she knew he was here and was just keeping him waiting. That sounded like her. 

He heard a shout that sounded like kids playing inside and looked around. He didn’t see the Sitwell guy anywhere, and the security guards standing around didn’t seem like they were going to stop him from wandering down the hall...

Just to be sure, he took a careful step. That done, he took another. They still weren’t tackling him, so he kept up a slow pace toward the shouts that were getting louder, accompanied by a banging sound. Steve frowned and peeked into a room. His eyes widened. It looked like a throne room, only a bunch of kids were kicking a ball around. No, it was definitely the throne room. The back of the throne was only thirty feet away.

“Hey!” he snapped. “Show the place some respect, would y-” One of the tallest kids turned around, documents in one hand, hair in a messy ponytail, and he stared at Sharon in horror. Not a kid, he realized. Not a kid. He’d just yelled at a monarch who wasn’t a kid. Not that he wanted to yell at a monarch who _was_ a kid, but this was worse. This was so much worse.

His eyes widened when he saw the ball flying at Sharon. He just managed to take half-a-step forward before it hit her in the back of the head.

“Holy shit!” Steve ran at her, dropping to his knees in front of her and then fumbled with his hands as he tried to make sure she was all right and also make sure he didn’t touch her.

“How about you stand back, pal.” A hand wrapped around his arm and lifted him to his feet before another hand shoved him back several paces. “Your Majesty? Rugrats, back.” All the children who’d run over to check on Sharon immediately stepped away.

Sharon groaned and rubbed the back of her head. Steve busied himself with picking up the documents that had fallen, trying not to notice that her eyes looked wet. Oh, crap. He was going to get beheaded on his first day abroad. They might have strict gun control policies here, but he was pretty damn sure they had other ways of killing guys like him. “For anyone who might be wondering,” she said slowly, “this is why I don’t wear my crown all the damn time.” She straightened and forced her shoulders back. “I’m fine, Rumlow. Thank you. If you’ll return their ball, I’ll take care of Mr. Rogers.”

Oh, _shit._

Rumlow seemed far from thrilled at the prospect, but he nonetheless waved the kids across the room and went to kick the ball to them.

Sharon looked down at Steve. Again, whatever she was thinking, she hid it too well for him to guess. 

“I can’t apologize enough,” he said quickly.

“You can try.” She knelt on the floor and started collecting the files. He handed her the ones he’d picked up as he continued to apologize, and she organized them before getting to her feet. “James said you’d be coming. He didn’t say why, though.”

“Coronation portrait.” Again, his answer was quick. He didn’t dare take too long to answer anymore; he’d done enough damage. 

She grimaced. “Thought that was it. That’s very... kind of him.”

Oh, God. She hated the idea as much as he did. He should have insisted on a picture. It wouldn’t turn out as well, but he could still hop on a plane and paint from home.

“I have some errands to run, but Natasha should be here soon. She can show you to your room and the studio. You might as well tag along; she always finds me eventually.”

“Uh, yeah. That’d be great. Your Majesty.”

She rolled her eyes. “Just Sharon. It’s a stupid name for a queen, but the title’s a mouthful. So just Sharon, okay?”

“Um. Right.” He stammered for a moment, unable to call her just by her first name, and finally gave up and went silent.

A grin tugged at her lips, and he had to wonder if she knew what he was thinking. She stopped by one office and introduced him to Lord Dugan, the Chief of Palace Security, joking that it was because of Dugan that she could walk around without expectation of assault from things more serious than footballs. For their next stop, she dropped off a menu at the kitchen and introduced him to Happy, who was in the middle of devouring a burger. “If you want food, Happy’s the guy to talk to, and he’s not bad at driving people around, either.” She raised an eyebrow at the burger and asked if he would share, and he promised to send it upstairs if he thought it was good enough. 

She led him along to more offices, in and out of stairwells until his head spun, introducing him to more people than he could possibly remember. Her stack of files never really disappeared, only changed thickness. She seemed to know everyone, and as Steve had expected, everyone seemed to know her. He also found that many of them had no qualms about arguing with her about legislation, and she had no qualms about arguing right back. 

On one of their rare times alone, she rubbed her temples. “James and his parents have no idea how lucky they are to have Pierce.”

Steve nodded. “Good guy. Manages a lot for them.”

“I need a Pierce,” she griped. “Wouldn’t mind having a Pierce at all.” She spotted Natasha at the end of the hall and immediate brightened. “Natasha! James’ friend, Steve, is here. Could you get him taken care of while I get ready for the museum opening?”

Natasha nodded. “Sure. Sitwell said he’d shown up.” She looked Steve up and down, then turned. “This way.” Sharon passed them as they walked and continued on as Natasha led Steve up another stairwell. Steve wondered if this would be a good time to mention his asthma. “Your room,” Natasha said at last, shoving a door open. “It connects to the studio. Enjoy.” 

Steve stepped inside to find a moderately large room. It was light, airy. Surprisingly comfortable. “I didn’t think you guys had a studio here. James said you haven’t had a court artist in a long time.”

Evidently, she felt that the fact that he was standing in the studio was enough to show him that the palace did, in fact, have a studio. Instead, she said, “If you hurt her, I’ll make you wish I would let you die.” She didn’t elaborate on what she would do to him, exactly, that would make him wish he could die, but her voice held enough confidence that he believed her.

The door was closed before he could even turn around, and he gaped at the back of the door for several seconds before once again wishing he was home.

*

Naturally, the two of them couldn’t make it more than three days before a fight broke out.

“I can’t do the portrait if you keep rescheduling!” Steve snapped. He’d pointed it out several times during meals. Her aunt and several advisors had said they were firmly on his side, but Sharon had walked in only to cancel _again._

She drew up short when she heard his tone. In the doorway, Rumlow tensed. Steve glared at him. It wasn’t like he was going to hurt her. “Oh, I’m so sorry if I feel running a country is more important than having my face stuck to some fabric.”

Steve glared at her. “It’s a gift from Prince James! More importantly, paintings of sovereigns matter. They send messages. They show the people that you’re not just another bureacrat, you’re a damned queen!”

“Damned?” She raised an eyebrow at him, but it lowered when she realized that Steve wasn’t going to back down. “Look, the fact is I get a lot of publicity, and those kids need that publicity. So if it comes to helping them and standing around for a portrait, I’m going to help them every time. Rumlow? What time is it?”

“You have three minutes, max, your Majesty.”

She scowled. “Fine. Steve. You’re coming with. We’ll talk about this in the car. And by the time we get there, you _will_ agree with me.”

“Joy,” Rumlow muttered as she swept out, Steve on her heels.

They weren’t alone again until they were in the backseat of the car, and they sat as far apart as they could as the car pulled out of the drive.

“You don’t seem to understand-” Sharon began, shoulders tense.

Steve interrupted. He felt comfortable enough after spending several days here to argue with her much like he would with James; he hadn’t heard of anyone losing their heads lately, after all. “Sketching would make it go faster.”

“What?”

“Sketching your face. So I get kind of... familiar with it. Sketching people helps.”

She raised an eyebrow. “That isn’t creepy at all.”

“It isn’t!” he snapped defensively. “It’s how all artists work!”

She rolled her eyes but quickly changed her expression to a smile so she could wave at a family passing by on the street. “Easy, tiger. Fine. Do we have to schedule time for you to sketch me?”

He shook his head. “I just have to follow you.”

“How is that not creepy?” she demanded.

Steve groaned in frustration. “I’m not doing it to be creepy! I’m doing it so I can do a better portrait, and you won’t behead me, and James and his parents won’t be embarassed at what a terrible job I did!”

They drove in silence for several minutes. For security reasons, they didn’t stop at lights, and Steve watched people’s faces, noting how unhappy some of them seemed. He wondered if the royals realized how weird they were to people who lived on the outside. They didn’t seem to realize that every time they ran a red light, someone forced to stop at a green light felt a little more animosity toward them.

“So you’re just going to follow me around, sketching me?”

“Yeah.”

“And how is that not creepy?”

Steve’s head fell, and he groaned again.

“Anything else you’ll need?”

Steve didn’t answer right away. Despite how he felt more comfortable talking with her and less like she’d behead him as soon as she got the chance, he didn’t think either of them would like what he was going to say next. “I usually hang out with people beforehand. Get to know them.”

“You’ve already stepped on my foot and made me get whacked in the head with a ball, Steve. Hanging out with you is dangerous for my health.”

“But could be great for your portrait.”

She went silent, and when she spoke again, it had nothing to do with him. She confirmed her schedule with Rumlow, then made phone calls the rest of the drive. Only when they were back in the car after spending an hour playing with children at the orphanage did she speak directly to him again. 

“The only reason I’m doing this is because of James and his parents. You can follow me. Sketch me. I’ll try and find time to hang out. It might not work, and if you get angry with me about it, I’m sending you back to James and you can do your damn portrait from memory. Agreed?”

“Agreed.”

“And I won’t behead you until you’re done. Probably.”

*

Pepper pulled the curtains open and set her fists firmly on her hips. The bedsheets were lumped and twisted, covered with whatever bottles hadn’t fallen to the floor. “Tony. You have to get up. At least go to the doctor to make sure you have a liver left.”

A low, croaking voice came from underneath the covers. “Doctor can come to me.”

“Tony, you’ve been missing work.”

“Pep. I appreciate your concern. I do. But all I need from you right now is another drink and a bottle.” He sounded parched, and she wondered when he’d had anything to drink other than alcohol.

“Two drinks,” another voice piped up. It was distinctly female.

Pepper left, but half out of spite and half out of concern, she sent up bottles of water instead of the drinks she knew he wanted.

*

Dugan’s body was found already cold in the early morning hours.

After Dugan’s body had been removed to the morgue and Natasha did a sweep for bugs, Sharon, Peggy, Natasha, and Nick sat together in Sharon’s parlor. They sipped brandy in morose silence.

Peggy’s voice was loud and rough in the quiet; she had known Dugan longer than any of them, and Sharon couldn’t imagine the toll this was taking on her. “It’s almost like someone is pulling the noose.”

“He died in his sleep, Aunt Peggy. People do it all the time.” There were shadows under Sharon’s eyes. She needed sleep, but the more she saw Peggy deteriorate and the more Nick told her his concerns about her safety, the harder it came to her. It didn’t help that there were only two people living between her country and civil war; those thoughts in particular kept her up at night. Few people knew she’d asked Natasha to watch her while she slept. Paranoia, perhaps, but it was a comfort to know that Natasha was the one who guarded her when she was at her most vulnerable. The training sessions first thing in the morning certainly helped to wake her up, too. 

Of course, Natasha wasn’t always the right person to cheer her up. “Dugan was healthy. He’d had a physical just a week before. Flying colors.”

Sharon glared at her to no avail.

“Someone’s up to something,” Nick agreed. “And whoever it is, they’re not going to stop at Dugan.”

“We’re assuming it’s just one person. We need to look at the possibility of several people.” Nick looked at Sharon, and she shrugged. “What, because I was empty-headed before I became Queen, I can’t notice things?” Truth be told, it had struck her as odd than she’d had twenty relatives when she was born and was now down to two, three if she went far enough down the line, and when she had reviewed the list of nobles who would have to be invited to the coronation, she had noticed that far too many of them had passed away. Her concerns as to why so many of them were gone kept her up at night, too. But if Nick and Peggy had noticed something, maybe Nick would agree to look into it. Maybe she hadn’t been imagining it all. Maybe paranoia could be healthy.

“You were never empty-headed, dear,” Peggy murmured.

Sharon smiled, but she couldn’t help but wonder if Peggy might someday forget what Sharon had been like as a child. Or perhaps, Peggy would remember her as a child and forget her as an adult. She wasn’t sure what was worse. “Howard Stark died in a tragic accident on his way home from James’ ball. There have been other accidents. Illnesses. If you want to be really paranoid, you might want to look at why so many of the royal families now have tapered off to one person. James’ sister was trampled by a horse years ago. His parents never had another child.”

“Antoine,” Natasha murmured.

Sharon nodded. “And I want him under guard. He’s already agreed to stay with James for the time being; he’ll have some degree of protection there, but if we can find a way for him to get extra protection, we need to do it. If something happens to me, he’s next in line. The line has to be protected.” She ran a finger along the rim of her glass. “I’ll start drafting legislation. Something to stave off civil war for if the worst happens. It’ll take some time.” She frowned. Not only would it take time to make it as full-proof as possible, but she would have to then get Parliament to approve of it, and that meant working with Ellis. Parliament was tricky to work with at the best of times, but maybe the new Prime Minister would be able to make things move more smoothly.

“And we have to decide who your new Chief of Palace Security will be,” Nick reminded her. “Before you go turning the government upside down.”

“No one from the known candidates,” Sharon said firmly. “We’ll have to investigate those. Whoever wanted Dugan out of the way - and we have to assume it was murder,” she looked at Natasha and was worried to see that Natasha didn’t look smug at the agreement, only resigned, “then they likely wanted him out of the way because they want his position.”

“I know someone,” Nick offered. “No one here will have heard of her, and she’s good. One of the best. Retired, but I think she’ll agree if we ask real nice.”

“And pay real well?” Sharon drawled.

“Doesn’t hurt.” He kicked back the rest of his drink. “Coulson and I go way back, too. I’ll drop him a line. Make inquiries.”

Sharon tapped her glass. “Another thing. I don’t know if you know. Mother miscarried when I was seven. She didn’t tell me until a couple years before she died.” She glanced at Peggy, but Peggy’s poker face had always been better than her own. “They always planned on having more children, but after the miscarriage, Mother was unable to conceive. I’m curious if that wasn’t just some accident and if there might be other instances.”

“And we mustn’t forget the War,” Peggy reminded them. “It’s been going on for decades now, draining our treasuries. Prince James nearly died there, perhaps would have if not for Antoine and his unit. There have been too many battles where the Axis seemed to know what would happen too soon, too many locations compromised.” Sharon frowned, and Peggy shrugged. “Once we began noticing anomalies, I decided to investigate further. I fought in the War when I was younger; I have some degree of battle knowledge, thank you.”

Sharon frowned but didn’t argue. Instead, she stared into her brandy and considered the possibility. “All circumstantial,” Sharon said slowly.

Nick raised his glass, the gesture ironic. “But pretty damning when you put it all together.”

They fell into silence again, and this time, it was Sharon who broke it. “I can’t believe we’re talking about a conspiracy for destroying the monarchies.”

“They already did in Russia,” Natasha pointed out. “I have some friends who tell me the Japanese Emperor is having trouble with dissenters. The Ukranian government might be toppling soon, if you believe the news. Moldova won’t be far behind. They’re surrounded by Axis countries and not getting the supplies or weapons they need in order to hold out. In Russia, the family was offered a deal- they could live if they signed over the country.”

Sharon made a derisive sound in the back of her throat. Fat lot of good that had done the Tsar. Having handed over power, no one had any reason to keep him alive.

Natasha continued. “Royal families across the Continent are losing support, according to polls. If someone were to play a long game to topple a monarchy, showing that they don’t have the support of the people isn’t a bad way of going about that. My guess is that other families will be getting an invitation to step down soon.”

Sharon looked at her for several moments. “And God knows my approval rating is low.” She got to her feet. “Nick, get me a list of the obvious candidates, and put that friend of yours in the pile. We’ll review everything and interview everyone as usual. Look at anyone who had access to Dugan. We’ll have to hire more people we can trust and move away the people we’re unsure about.” She set her hand on the back of the chair, and for a moment looked as tired as she felt. She’d never wanted to be Queen, damn it.

He nodded and forewent the bow as he left.

“A word?” Peggy asked, looking to Natasha. There were very few people that Natasha would leave alone with Sharon without a second thought; Peggy was at the top of the list. Once it was just the two of them, Peggy forced herself to her feet. “You’ve noticed my mind is going.”

“Aunt Peggy-”

She held up a hand. “Don’t. You know, Nick knows. I know. I appreciate you two pretending that it’s all right, but we don’t have the luxury of fantasy. I understand it will make things more difficult for you, and I may not be there to support you as I ought.” She kept a hand on the chair as her back straightened, and Sharon realized that somehow, her aunt had changed from the strong, vivacious woman who had allayed her doubts and talked on the phone with her until four in the morning to an aged woman whose body would soon fail her, whose mind was already beginning to fail her. Sharon didn’t dare move to help steady her, though. Not yet. Peggy still had the Carter pride and a mean right hook that had become legendary as soon as she used it.

“Before I go, however, in the myriad of ways that I may go,” Peggy continued, “I want you to know how proud I am of you. Your parents were not the best monarchs, sorry to say. When it came to legislation, your mother couldn’t find an amendment to save her life, and your father’s skill with people made me certain we’d see a revolt. But you. Already thinking of how to prevent civil war, thinking of security on a global scale. Going out of your way for people when they don’t always appreciate it. I’m immensely proud of you.”

“I had you to look up to.” She swallowed and roughly cleared her throat. She’d meant to sound teasing, not tearful.

Peggy walked over and cupped her cheek. “You make me proud to be a part of this family, and as much as I loved your father, I couldn’t always say that of him. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to bed. Us old women need our rest.” She paused on her way to the door. “And tomorrow I’m getting a cane. I’m old enough for it to seem natural.” Her lips spread in a slow smile. “Did you know they can put swords in canes? I must admit, I’m not bad with a sword...”

*

“How does it feel?” Betty asked as the arm began to move.

James flexed the fingers. Try as he might, he couldn’t think of it as his arm. It wasn’t soft and flesh-colored like he was used to. Had been used to, rather. It was a dark gray color with the joints clearly evident. Jan was going to have fits.

“It feels fine.” He lifted the arm, frowning as the elbow bent. “It’s just been a while since I had a moving arm on this side.”

“Sorry it’s so heavy,” Jemma said mournfully. “Fitz is very upset about that.”

“I’m not upset,” he jumped in. “I’m just not happy with it.”

James managed a small grin. “Mind if I try it out for a day or two?”

Betty leaned over and checked the connections between the arm and James’ scarred flesh. He tried not to be self-conscious about what she must think of the raised and hardened skin, the mountains and valleys of flesh that had formed after his arm was ripped off. “We were hoping you would, actually. It would give us a chance to study real-life scenarios we couldn’t anticipate in a lab.”

He made a face. “Something tells me you’ve accounted for a lot.”

She shrugged. Working with Betty had given James a new respect for her. It wasn’t that he hadn’t respected her before, but now he could appreciate her more deeply. She was gentle even when she was direct, and she was modest about her accomplishments, making sure she didn’t give him false hope or make promises she couldn’t follow through on. It wasn’t something he saw much of at Court. “Just don’t stick your finger in a socket. It’s still metal.”

He frowned at the arm, his fingers moving slowly as he kept working with it. He could only imagine what would happen if he fried the parts of his skin that sent the neural impulses to the arm. “Noted.”

*

Sharon sat in a chair that had seemed lush when she’d first tested it, but ever since had felt more and more suffocating. She suspected it was a combination of psychosomatic effects and poor lumbar support. She squirmed a little when she thought no one was looking, only to find the woman’s eyes firmly on her.

“You have an excellent poker face,” she complained. 

“She doesn’t let on when she knows something,” Nick said. “One of the reasons I thought she’d be good for the job.”

“Hm.” Sharon looked over the file even though she’d read it so many times that she could recite it from memory. “Why’d you retire?”

“I felt like taking a break.”

“And why are you considering this job?”

“Fury told me how much it pays.”

Sharon leaned forward. “Lying to me is a bad way to earn that money, Melinda May.”

Hardly any reaction. Excellent.

She pointed to May’s file. “You went on a covert mission in the War years ago and things went south. Details are sparse after that, but I’m going to guess that you went through something terrible, the kind of thing someone like myself could never imagine. You probably spent a lot of time wondering what could have given your unit away, how the mission could have gone so wrong, and no one could tell you. Or would. Shortly after that, you retired. I’m guessing you had to convince people to let you go first, am I right?”

There was a slow blink. It was all the confirmation she’d get.

“Now let me tell you why you’re going to take this job, and it isn’t because of the money.” She didn’t take her eyes off May, although she could feel Nick grow tense to her side. As always, Natasha didn’t flinch. Sharon could see why the Russians would want her back. And she expected the Russians would be able to see why Sharon didn’t want to let Natasha go. 

“We think people in this palace and elsewhere are manipulating events to weaken the royal houses,” she continued. “We think they’re pitting the Allies, the Axis, and the Rings against one another. The last person who had your job died. If we hire you, there will be a target on your back. Whoever tries to kill you will likely be working with whoever killed Dugan, and they may well be able to lead us to the people who made your mission go south and put you through hell. That is why you’ll work with us. Because you need answers and to see justice done, and we can help you get those answers. Are you interested?”

May sat as still as a statue, her eyes firm on Sharon. At length, she turned her head to Nick. “You understated how much she’d talk.”

“I like the sound of my own voice,” Sharon said lightly.

“And you wanted to convince me to take this job for the right reasons while impressing upon me what a dangerous job it will be,” she responded in a similar tone. “Don’t worry. I’ve dealt with danger before.”

“So you accept the position?”

May gave a single nod. “I do.”

“Good. Then I’m going to add something to your list of duties that you are not allowed to tell anyone.” Sharon took a breath. She hadn’t told the others about this yet, and this was a hell of a time for them to find out. “I only have two main bodyguards. I want to hire more, but for now, it’s just Natasha and Rumlow. I’ve asked Natasha to stand guard at night. I’ll need you to do the same when she’s away.”

“What?” Natasha’s voice was sharp.

Sharon ignored the tone. “I’m trusting you because Nick trusts you, and you likely have more reason than I do to hate these people right now.” She turned her face to the side. “As we uncover evidence, Natasha will be my trusted courier to other families. As my bodyguard who’s overdue for a vacation, people won’t think much about not seeing her around all the time, unlike the recently-hired Chief of Palace Security, and she’s known to several of the other families. While she’s away, I need someone to fill the void.”

May studied her calmly. “Things are that bad?”

“I’d rather not die and find out that way.”

May nodded. “I’ll do it. Just don’t ask me to give you a foot massage.”

Sharon frowned. “I- Can I do that?” She looked quickly to Natasha, her eyes widening. “Oh my God. I’m Queen. I can do that.”

“ _No,_ ” Natasha said firmly. She crossed her arms, and Sharon suspected she was going to get an earful when they were alone. For now, Natasha swallowed down her feelings and focused on the task at hand. “I looked into Dugan’s death. As I suspected, Dr. Diaz, one of the resident doctors at the palace, gave him a slow-acting poison that has to be ingested over a period of days to be effective. I found a stash of it in Diaz’s office. It’s a kind that builds up in the system to critical mass, and then, when it doesn’t have the body’s heat any longer, dissipates. So we have a lead. We can watch him and find out how he’s communicating with other people in the network.”

“Can you switch out the pills with placebos?” Sharon asked.

“It could tip our hand.”

“Do it anyway. If he panics because he knows we’re onto him, we’ll collect him and get answers through more forceful means. We can’t afford to lose any more people than we already have.” She leaned back in her seat. “If something goes wrong, maybe we can at least turn it to our advantage by seeing where the trouble starts.”

Nick chuckled. “Knew playing Risk with you when you were a kid could be useful.”

Sharon groaned. “Damn game. Still hate it.” She looked to May. “My coronation is in a month. You’re going to have a lot of crap to deal with just from that. But on top of that, I want you to sort out the people under you. Decide who you trust, who you don’t, why, and tell me. We’ll have nightly meetings at eleven with my Aunt Peggy in my apartment.”

Now, an eyebrow finally rose. “A test?”

Sharon grinned thinly. “I’m responsible for the safety and well-being of billions of people. Of course it’s a test. Good luck.”

May got to her feet. “Hell of a first day.”

“Wait until you see the second.”

*

“Pepper’s right, a break would be good for you.” Rhodey almost sat on the bed, thought twice, and leaned against the wall instead.

“You’ve been invited to accompany the King and Queen,” Pepper offered. “ _By_ the King and Queen. They’re going to visit the troops in the Middle East. But they won’t be going near the front lines, just staying in the fanciest hotels still standing and telling the troops what a great job they’re doing.”

“And you’ll be living on their dime for a while,” Rhodey agreed. He frowned at a pile of dirty clothes Pepper hadn’t carted off yet. “And leaving your room on occasion.”

Tony grunted. “That’s a selling point, sure.”

“It would be if you could smell yourself,” Rhodey muttered. He ignored Pepper’s look and straightened his shoulders. “It’s still bikini weather there, Tony. And most of the women here... Well, they’ve been talking about the smell in here, man.”

Pepper rolled her eyes.

Tony considered. He hadn’t shaved in days. And now that Rhodey mentioned it, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d changed his clothes. He was almost certain he’d picked these pants up off the floor at some point. “I guess I can grace their majesties with my presence.”

Pepper rolled her eyes even harder. “I’ll go tell them the good news.”

*

Yinsen woke to the smell of burning flesh. For a moment, he thought he was back home, watching the bodies of his wife and daughter burn and unable to save them. He would never forget the smell, nor the message on the wall written in his daughter’s blood - “This is the price of peace.”

When he opened his eyes, there were no messages written in blood. Instead, there was the jagged piece of the airplane’s wing, nearly torn off by the crash landing. The rest of the plane had been torn open, the inside ablaze.

He rubbed his eyes and felt for his spectacles. One of the lenses had cracked, but after a quick polish, he could make out the men moving through the plane, each of them dressed in desert-style camouflage. He recognized the symbol’s on their sleeves. They were Raza’s men. Members of the Ten Rings. The members of the same group that had killed his family now poked each body and shot anyone who moved. Yinsen watched a man take a picture of one of the bodies before searching the body for jewelry and other items.

He had gone to America to escape people like these. The War in Europe had led to the Allies withdrawing troops and resources from the Middle East, and Raza and his insurgents had taken advantage and overthrown governments in the name of the Ten Rings, one ring for each country they eventually took over. Anyone who defied them was killed or forced to flee. Yinsen had held out hope that his people would fight back. 

It was that same hope, expressed to the wrong person, that had gotten his family murdered.

He felt a muzzle pressed to the back of his head and instinctively raised his hands. The gesture of submission made his stomach turn. What did he hope to achieve? He was going to be killed just like his wife and daughter had been years before, just as the people on the plane had been.

And then he saw the body where blood still spread from his chest, and Yinsen got an idea.

“Wait! Wait. My name is Ho Yinsen. I am a doctor. That man there is Tony Stark! He can make you weapons, weapons that can help you win this war! But to do that, you must let me live so I can save him!”

There was a long pause, and Yinsen’s hands trembled. At last, the gun fell away from his head, and a foot kicked him in Tony’s direction. He didn’t need any more encouragement.

*

“You ready?” Sam asked, putting a steadying hand on James’ good shoulder. With Steve gone, he was one of the very few people that James felt comfortable around, even with the small, steadying touches. He’d gotten to know Sam better since Steve had left and had found that, while Sam hadn’t lost a limb abroad, he _had_ lost a brother in arms. While James’ father tried to forget what James had experienced, it was comforting to find someone who didn’t try to sweep his experiences under a rug. Even better, Sam hadn’t known him before the War and didn’t expect to see the person James no longer was, didn’t judge him for having nightmares or for his attention wandering for long periods of time.

James nodded. “I’ve done press conferences before. It’ll be like riding a bike, right?”

“I wouldn’t know. I’ve never done a press conference,” Sam pointed out. “But I’m armed, so if anyone out there gives you trouble, give me a nod.”

“Don’t shoot anyone,” James muttered. “Yet.” He looked around the curtain at the room of chairs. By his request, other soldiers who had lost limbs were in the first couple rows. Though some of the reporters were seated, most of them were at the coffee and snacks table. James had seen vultures surrounding bodies, and he wondered that he had never seen the similarities before.

He took a deep breath. It seemed everyone was here. “Let’s get this over with.” He strode out to the dais, Sam positioning himself immediately offstage.

“Good afternoon,” James began. “I know your time is valuable, so I’ll keep this short. During my service in the War, my unit was captured by the Ten Rings. While my friends lost their lives, I only lost a limb.” He glanced at the soldiers he’d invited, then to the reporters, then focused on a point just above their heads. He should have practiced more with Sam; this was his first time talking about this in public. “I can’t tell you,” he continued slowly, “how much I regret not being able to give as much as they did. Not a day goes by that I don’t think of them, that I don’t think of their families. They were the best people I could ever have hoped to serve with, and they...” He swallowed. “They were family to me.”

“And yet, I was rescued and brought home, and all I’d lost were my friends, my comrades, and an arm. But I also came back with something more- a new sense of duty. Before, I carried out my duties because they were what was expected of me and because I felt I could do no less than what we have so often asked of you. Now, I carry them out because I understand the sacrifice so many of you have made, not just so our country can continue but so each and every one of us might have a chance to see peace. 

“My father has hired scientists to provide me with a prosthetic arm, and Queen Sharon lent some of her scientists to this endeavor as well. I am pleased to announce that these scientists, led by Dr. Elizabeth Ross, Dr. Leo Fitz, and Dr. Jemma Simmons, have created prosthetics that use neural impulses to create prosthetic limbs that move as limbs normally would. The mechanical functions keep the limbs warm. They are, essentially, like real limbs. I am even more pleased to announce they’ve found a way to provide these prosthetics to all of our soldiers who have lost limbs fighting for us and our families. I had the honor of meeting our soldiers when I served, and I know these men and women to be true heroes. It is my honor to pay for the prosthetic of any soldier who needs it. I’ll try to do more for all of you, because you deserve more, but in the meantime, I hope you’ll allow me the opportunity to extend not only my gratitude, but that of our entire country.” 

He cleared his throat. “Now. I understand that this is my first press conference since I came back. If I didn’t take questions, I’d hate to see how you’d skewer me in the press.” He grinned at the quiet chuckles, though he could already see a mental news report with body language experts comparing his current weak grin to the wide one he’d worn easily before his captivity. “Any questions?”

Hands went up around the room, but James focused on those of the soldiers in front first. Most of them dealt with government assistance, and James was relieved that he was able to answer all of their questions, as well as offer his personal assistance. The War had inspired him to look into veterans’ affairs as he never had before.

So far, so good, he thought. Now for the hard part.

As expected, the press was mostly concerned in the grislier aspect of his imprisonment. Had he needed to patch up his own arm? What had the food been like? How had his fellow soldiers died? Was it true he’d been forced to watch?

Most of the questions were uncouth, hurtful, inflammatory, and expected.

“What will you do now that you’re King?”

He turned to the blonde reporter. Everhart? Yes. Christine Everhart. “Excuse me?”

She glanced at the others reporters, then at the guards. “The news just broke about fifteen minutes ago. The plane crashed- I thought you’d decided to do this anyway. Your parents- Sorry, your Majesty.”

James froze, his fingers gripping the podium tightly. He was only vaguely aware of Sam pulling him away as lights flashed wildly around him.

*

Steve frowned as he and Sharon walked in the gardens. He’d manage to talk her into taking a break, and as always, the process had been like pulling teeth. He’d only managed to talk her into going into the gardens four times since he’d arrived, never for longer than half an hour.

The effort was paying off, though. He was seeing glimpses of the humor she showed to people she cared about and beginning to understand that she didn’t ever hide her oftentimes-cyncial sense of humor, even though many people saw it only as her being a bitch. She was guarded, and while he hadn’t broken through all of her walls - nor did he care to - his sketches of her had improved. He hadn’t quite managed to capture her expression, but he thought sometimes that he hadn’t ruined her face.

“This is weird,” he complained as they turned a corner. One of the reasons he liked walking with her in the garden was because the guards would stand aside and not follow too closely as they did in the palace. Politicians and lobbyists who wanted favors from her would stay away as well; he supposed they were unwilling to get their coats just to run out for a conversation they could have later. He and Sharon could talk, just the two of them, as freely as she was willing to talk, and Steve could ignore Rumlow’s threatening figure watching them from the balcony.

“Hm?” Sharon, her thoughts elsewhere, looked down at him, and Steve wished, not for the first time, that he could be as tall as other guys and not feel so ridiculous walking next to her. She didn’t even wear heels when she wasn’t doing functions, and she was still taller.

“You’re never this quiet. I mean, I know you’re the queen, and you have other things on your mind, but you’re _never_ this quiet.”

Her lips twitched. “Heavy lies the head that wears the crown.”

“Is that why you always wear the dainty ones?” he teased lightly. Hoped he’d teased. He’d learned he wasn’t very good at teasing people, especially queens, and he tried to keep it to a minimum these days.

“Exactly.” She looked over the garden and sighed. “Did you know, I once talked to Antoine about giving him the crown instead? It used to be women couldn’t inherit - that’s why Father got the crown instead of Aunt Peggy. They had to change it when Mother couldn’t have more children. So I tried to get Antoine to take the throne instead.” She wrinkled her nose. “The asshole wouldn’t take it. Said the last thing he wanted was a cage that came with its own noose.”

Steve frowned. “I... It isn’t that bad, is it? I mean, I know you work hard, but that’s a really depressing way of looking at things.”

Her mouth twisted into a dark smile. “I’ll be queen until I die, Steve. The only way to stop being a monarch in this country is to die.” She ran a hand through her hair, and it occurred to Steve that she looked more tired than he’d ever seen her.

“This might be a bad thing to say, then, but I think you’re a good queen.” She raised an eyebrow, and he shrugged. “You work harder than anyone I know. And you care about them, even if they don’t always care about you.”

“Thanks,” she said dryly. 

“What I’m saying,” he argued, “is that people don’t always treat you as nice as you deserve. And not just because you’re royalty. I’ve seen you play indoor soccer-”

“Football.”

“Not calling it that. Soccer with the servants’ kids. You rush through meetings so you can visit orphanages and hospitals. And the only thing in the news about you is what guys you’ve slept with.”

She stopped walking and crossed her arms, but he suspected it had more to do with the Fall air than her being upset. He tugged off his jacket and draped it across her shoulders. It was too small for her, but he left it there anyway. “You really know how to talk to women, Rogers.” 

He shrugged. “I’m just saying. And I should also say that we’re going to have to start on the portrait. Your coronation is less than a month away.”

She tapped her fingers against her arm. “Right. Out of curiosity, which stories in the press do you believe about me? I saw the one about me and Rumlow. Did you believe that one?”

“What? Why would I-” Despite himself, Steve’s eyes slid to where Rumlow stood, looking down at them. “I never said I believed it. But it’s not like I’m going to blame you if it’s true.” He saw her features darkened and took a quick step forward. “It’s not like you talk to a bunch of guys! Royals need to get their kicks, too. It’s not like I’m going to judge. It’s not like I care.”

She stepped away. “Oh my God. You believe them, don’t you? The stories about me. That’s why you didn’t like me when we met. You thought I was some party-girl whore who- who, what, had to get sent away from home because of how shameful she was? Who was going to try and take advantage of James right after he got back? And you still think I’m a whore. You think I have time to spare to be a whore.”

Steve’s shoulders fell, and he looked around uncomfortably. None of the guards were in a rush to shoot or behead him, though. “When you put it like that,” he said weakly, trying to joke like they had been before.

“ _When I put it like that?_ ” She covered her face with her hands and took a deep breath. “Oh, God. Did you- No, you didn’t read all of them, did you. You didn’t have to. I did. My whole family did. But you just heard the stories from other people who just saw me as gossip fodder, didn’t you. Oh, God. I should have seen this coming. I should have known since we met at James’ ball. You weren’t standing up to me because of James, you were trying to push me away because you thought I was toxic.” She crossed her arms again and shook her head. “If you’ll excuse me, Mr. Rogers, I have a country to run.”

“I didn’t mean to upset you.” Even to his own ears, his excuse was weak. His mind spun as he tried to think of something to say to help her, but she was right. He had no idea how to talk to women.

“You didn’t,” she snapped. “This was great. Very illuminating. It’s good for a sovereign to know what the people around her think of her. And now I know. Yay, me.”

She stomped off, and Steve didn’t dare follow after her. Instead, he kicked himself until it got too cold, and then he moved inside to kick himself some more. He had to apologize.

And then the call from Sam came.

Portrait be damned. He left a scribbled note to Sharon, apologizing for his behavior and explaining that he had to go home immediately. His best friend’s parents, his king and queen, were dead, and his friend would need him far more than some spoiled queen with ego problems.

*

“Poor James.” Sharon turned off the television, unable to watch the footage another time. He’d looked shaken, if not outright broken. She’d remembered how she’d felt when her parents had died, the crushing loneliness in the face of unimaginable responsibility. At least when she’d found out, it hadn’t been on live television.

“Never mind him right now,” Natasha said firmly. “Why didn’t you tell me Rogers upset you?”

Sharon frowned and didn’t answer, crawling across her bed to turn off the light. 

“People have noticed you acting differently. Rumlow said it started when you talked to him. What happened?”

Sharon scowled. “Did you know people think I’ve been sleeping around? Even with Rumlow?”

“You’re a woman, he’s a man in close proximity with access to you at nearly all times,” Natasha said. Her tone barely held any emotion, but what was left wasn’t unkind.

She groaned and fell against the sheets. “When do people think I find the time?”

Natasha pulled up the blankets, her hands quick and sure. She’d already made sure there was nothing in the bed that wasn’t supposed to be there and that all of Sharon’s weapons were in place if Sharon had to defend herself. Sharon wasn’t the only paranoid person in the room, and unlike Sharon, Natasha knew all the ways Sharon could be attacked. “They don’t know you. They’re idiots. Is that what Rogers said that upset you?”

Sharon hesitated. “No,” she said at last. “It doesn’t matter. We have more important issues at hand. I think it’s time you go back to James’ court. Fill Antoine in. He’ll make sure you’re introduced to the right people, and he’ll help you. If you stay the night, you can catch a flight after breakfast, right?”

“I’ll eat on the plane. The sooner we get rid of these people, the better.” Natasha nodded to the borrowed jacket on the back of Sharon’s chair. “Want me to return that while I’m there? Rogers is already halfway across the Atlantic.”

Sharon yawned and squirmed beneath the covers. “That would be great, thanks. I wasn’t really looking forward to writing a letter to go with it. Just tell him he left it here and we’re returning it.”

“Sure thing. It’ll be fun.”

She glanced at her bodyguard in the darkness. If she weren’t upset with Steve, Natasha’s smile might have worried her.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha tries to convince King James of the situation. Sharon hires new bodyguards. Tony has an idea. Betty suggests Dr. Erskine might be able to help them win the War.

Tony’s skin felt so parched that he thought it might crack if he moved. His mouth felt like he had life forms growing in it, but he distinctly remembered Pepper making him brush his teeth before going near the plane. And his head. His head had never hurt like this. He must have drank harder than usual. He groaned. “Pep. Need drink.”

“Miss Potts isn’t here.”

Tony forced an eye open. The room was dim; if he didn’t know any better, he’d think they were in a cave. His eyes gradually focused on the only other man in the room. Familiar. Tony didn’t forget things easily. One of the delightful side effects of being a genius. “Yinsen.”

The man inclined his head. He had gauze wrapped around his head; a trail of dried blood ran underneath. “You’ll want to be careful. We’re lucky you design weapons, or they wouldn’t have let me operate on you.”

“Operate?”

Yinsen waved a hand over Tony’s chest. “It isn’t my area of expertise, but I did what I could.”

Tony stared at the wires coming out of his chest. They looked like they’d been pulled from the piles of junk on the tables around the room. “What-”

“Your heart was damaged when the place crashed.”

“More like got shot down, I’m guessing. Flying over a warzone with the royals. Stupid idea.”

Yinsen didn’t disagree.

“Speaking of the royals...”

He didn’t answer right away. “Prince James is King now.”

Tony cursed. Just his luck. “Anybody know we’re here?”

“No one knows we’re alive,” Yinsen said calmly. “But I suspect between the two of us we can get out alive and perhaps avenge our majesties as well.”

*

Antoine gave the door a light knock and waited for a shout from inside before shoving the door open. “For Head of Security around here, you’d think your office would be more secure. Do you even have a guard?”

“You don’t think I could take on the bad guys all by my lonesome? I know where all the big guns are.” Coulson stood and waved to an empty chair.

Antoine raised an eyebrow at the two women in the two other chairs. He’d met Hill before, but the younger woman was new. “I can come back. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“No trouble,” Hill said. Her dark hair was pulled back in its usual harsh ponytail, and she gave Coulson a sidelong look. She didn’t welcome the interruption as much as he seemed to. “We were just leaving.”

His eyes fell to the other woman, a tablet in her hand. Her posture was relaxed, her clothing not the tailored military-style clothes usually seen at the palace. “Don’t leave on my account.”

“They really were just leaving,” Coulson said firmly. He waved Antoine to a seat again, and Antoine watched them leave as he fell into it. 

He took a moment to focus on something other than asking the younger woman to hang out. The air at the White Palace was heavy enough that he could use the company of someone who didn’t seemed bogged down or caught up in it. “Your security is easier on the eyes than ours is.”

“They’re also more trigger-happy,” Coulson replied. Antoine wasn’t sure if it was a warning or not, but he figured it would be wise to take it that way.

“Noted. To business, then. I just wanted to stop by and introduce Natasha Romanoff.” Hearing her cue, Natasha stepped inside and stood casually as she sized Coulson up. Antoine gave her a nod. “I told her that you knew how security worked around here.”

“And why is she interested?” The way Romanoff looked him over, Antoine couldn’t blame Coulson for mentally reviewing every place he’d hidden a weapon in the entire building.

Natasha stepped forward. “Because your monarchs’ deaths were no accident. Queen Sharon sent me here to find out who was behind it, and also to save the life of King James.”

*

The prosthetic arm left dents in the table. “Sharon’s paranoid,” James told Natasha firmly. “My parents’ plane had a faulty valve.” Such a small damn thing, and now they and everyone who had been with them was dead. 

“That was what you were told. But the truth is they were murdered,” Natasha said firmly. “Just like Sharon’s parents. Just like Antoine’s likely were.” Antoine hung his head, though he thankfully remained silent. “Just like so many before them.”

“It was an accident,” James insisted, though it lacked the confidence of a moment ago. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Natasha, but all he really knew about her was that she danced well despite her complaints, and she was Sharon’s bodyguard. On the other hand, Antoine’s team was responsible for saving him. He still remembered Antoine carrying him across the desert, joking with him and comforting him and trying every tactic he could to get James to eat and drink on the way to the hospital. He trusted Antoine.

“Don’t be an idiot,” Natasha snapped. “Every moment you delay is another moment we lose to catch the people responsible.”

Antoine shook his head. “Romanoff.” Though Natasha was loyal primarily to Sharon, Peggy, and Nick, she still closed her mouth as Antoine spoke. “James. How did they find you?”

“What?”

“The people with the Ten Rings. How did they find your unit?”

James frowned. “It happens sometimes. You know that.”

He shook his head again. “It happens a lot. And from what Natasha tells me, Sharon thinks it’s being done on purpose.”

James stared at him. The thought that someone had intentionally leaked his location so that he would be found, allowing those people to attack his friends, murder them because his friends had been deemed worthless... He wasn’t sure evil like that could exist. He’d watched as each of his friends had been murdered one at a time in front of him. Surely, no one could willingly and knowingly do that.

“You need an overhaul of your security,” Natasha said firmly.

“Security’s already pretty impressive,” Coulson interjected.

She glared at him. “And yet your monarchs are dead.”

James slowly shook his head. “You’re not the most emotional person about stuff like this, are you?”

“Regimes fall every day,” Natasha told him. “I tend not to weep over it. I’m Russian. And the more time I spend here, the less time I spend protecting Sharon.”

James turned to Coulson. “You haven’t killed me yet,” he said.

“I haven’t cared to.” Coulson looked between Antoine and Natasha as he mulled over the situation. “I have some people I trust. I’d be remiss if I said we haven’t become disgruntled over things in the past several years...”

James considered. He wanted to trust Coulson. Could he? Who had his parents trusted? Who had betrayed them? How long would it be before they betrayed James, as well? He studied Natasha. “Is this how Sharon feels?”

She didn’t have to ask what he meant. Natasha shook her head. “Sharon has her aunt and Antoine, and she has advisors whom she trusts. The Duchess was especially important during the transition.” 

“And I don’t have any family left,” James noted wryly. “Fine. Coulson. I want to meet with that ‘we’ you mentioned. Antoine, you saved me once. I hope you won’t mind doing it again.” Antoine nodded, and James turned to Natasha. “Could we speak in private?”

She glanced at Antoine, then shrugged. “You’re the king.”

James grimaced and got to his feet, straightening his back. “Yeah. I am.” He turned to Coulson. “I’d like to meet them in an hour. It doesn’t seem like we have time to waste.” Once Coulson nodded, James left, holding the door open for Natasha behind him. “How long do you plan on staying?”

“Until Sharon calls me back. She wanted me to play courier. It’s possible she’ll send me somewhere else after this.”

James nodded. He’d suspected as much. “Could you- I know you aren’t one of my subjects, but Sharon trusts you. I was hoping you’d be my aunt.” Wait. What the fuck had he just said? “I mean, not my aunt. But like her aunt. Duchess Margaret. I was hoping you’d help me. That. Yes.”

Natasha stared at him, and he hoped to God that her thoughts about him were kinder than his own. “Meeting in an hour?”

He nodded. That sounded like she was going to help. Good. 

“Tell me where Rogers is. I’ve got something to give him. But I’ll be there.”

*

Steve yelped when he nearly ran into Natasha, his hand going to his bare chest. Damn it! He didn’t want to worry about having a heart attack on top of all the other health problems he had to worry about every day. “How the hell did you get in here?” It wasn’t as if he showered with the door unlocked. His hair was still damp. He hadn’t even put on underwear yet!

His grip on his towel tightened until his knuckles turned white.

“Was I not supposed to be able to get in here?” she asked, far too innocently to be believed.

He looked around his apartment, most of the surfaces crowded with sketchbooks and pencils. She couldn’t have broken in looking for something incriminating; he didn’t have anything incriminating. He didn’t even have library fines. And he knew he’d locked the door. He _knew_ it.

She tossed him his jacket, and he winced as a button hit him in the side of his head. “Just wanted to return that. You left it behind.”

He folded it carefully and set it on the back of a chair. Had she come all this way just to return the jacket Sharon hadn’t returned sooner? “Uh, thank you?”

She didn’t leave. “What did you say to her?”

He suddenly found himself thinking of how Natasha had been made a queen’s personal bodyguard, how she’d escaped from Russia after the royal family had been killed. What had she seen? More importantly, what was she capable of? It was tempting to pretend he didn’t know what she was talking about, but Steve _did_ know. And he’d been kicking himself ever since. “I... think she got upset that I believed some stuff about her in the press.”

“Such as?”

Steve shifted uncomfortably. “Her sleeping with people? She... might have thought- seemed to think that I thought she was a whore.”

She was suddenly in front of him, her nose nearly brushing against him. “I’d hate to think you did something to upset her, Rogers.” She spun and moved to the door, and Steve clutched his chest to make sure his heart was still beating. “Make it right. By the way, James wants you in a meeting in Coulson’s office in forty-seven minutes. Be there.”

*

James sat in Coulson’s chair in the security agent’s office, looking at the crew he and Coulson had gathered. As far as people he trusted, he had a good number, and if he’d put his faith in the right people, the number in front of him was a comfort. Coulson had gathered Maria Hill, one of the palace security officers, and Skye... something. No one had mentioned a last name. Natasha and Antoine were there, and James knew that everything said in this room would find its way to Sharon one way or another. Among James’ choices were Steve, Sam, and Betty Ross. He was unsure of what Betty Ross could do to help them, but after her work on the prosthetics, he trusted her. And given that he was short on people he could trust at the moment, he wanted her nearby.

None of them were advisers to his parents. He trusted some implicitly, some he knew because his success here would help their own sovereign, and others... because he had to hope he could trust them.

“First off, most of us know the basics of why we’re here, but I’ll make sure we’re on the same page. It is possible that we have enemies other than the Axis who are working together to eliminate royals, other people in power, and to manipulate the War to further their own ends. Obviously, whoever would be able to do this would be in a position of power, and would have to be close to us in order to leak information about our war plans. Which means that we have to be very, very careful about whom we trust. Nothing said here leaves this room.” He turned to Natasha. “I’ve asked Ms. Romanoff to share specifics.” 

Natasha straightened and talked about Dugan’s death, about the mysterious circumstances behind a variety of deaths, from James’ parents, to Sharon’s, to Antoine’s. There were other people in positions of power or who were members of the royal family who had suffered accidents. She described how multiple military units were ambushed when no one could have known their location and how battles that should have been won easily and quickly dragged on with large loss of life. By the time she had finished, nearly half an hour had passed. “Those are the only instances we know of so far, but it’s safe to say that there’s more. We also don’t have any evidence yet. We have at least one suspect, whom we’re waiting to lead us to others in his network, but we collectively just realized we’re fighting a shadow war we didn’t know we were losing.”

She went silent, and James studied the somber faces around the room. He doubted any of them had realized what they were up against. He could barely wrap his head around it himself. But with no heir save for a young girl he’d only met a couple of times and civil war on the horizon, he didn’t have the luxury of ignoring the possible threat.

The only person moving was Skye, tapping away at her tablet. She looked to Coulson, then to James. “I think I just found 189 more cases.” 

He looked at her curiously. “You got that from a tablet?”

Sam made a noise in the back of the room. “Tablets have come a long way since your time, James.”

James grinned ruefully, his eyes on Skye’s tablet. “So it seems.”

“Skye is my tech guru,” Coulson said. “If she says there are 189 more cases, there are 189 more cases.”

Natasha studied Skye with renewed interest. “Can you get copies of the autopsies without anyone noticing?”

“I... already have them.” Skye frowned; James thought it was a noble effort to hide how pleased with herself she was, but her pride in her skills was still obvious.

“Good. Get them to me. I’ll go through them.”

“Me, too,” Sam said.

“And me,” Antoine added.

Maria merely cleared her throat and nodded.

“And don’t forget me,” James said at last. He figured that, being King, he should try to keep himself in the loop.

“And Coulson goes without saying,” Skye muttered to herself, preparing the documents to send to each of them, complete with encryption.

“Send them to Sharon, too,” Natasha told her. She tilted her head to the side. “Do I need to tell you her email, or...”

“I’ve had it since I was twelve and she met N’Sync instead of me,” Skye admitted. “I sent her a lot of spam. Figured that if I got her pizzas or magazines, she might hand them off to people at the palace, and they’d end up liking her more. So. Spam.” She glanced at Natasha, then Coulson. “I mean. She’s probably got a different one now. So if you want to give it to me? I won’t send her spam. Promise.”

James suppressed his grin at Natasha’s expression. The bodyguard and spy didn’t seem to know how to react to hearing about such a petty revenge scheme. “Perhaps after the meeting,” he suggested. Even though he suspected that if Skye were as good as he seemed, she’d have Sharon’s email long before the meeting was over. “We still have to make plans. Obviously, it would be best for me to have bodyguards who are assigned to me rather than relying on the palace guard, since we don’t know who we can trust there.”

“I can help there,” Sam offered. “Since I’ve carried your sorry butt so much lately anyway.”

“Same here! Though it’s been a mix of carrying _and_ dragging for me,” Antoine said, twisting in his seat to get a better view of Sam. “We should compare notes. And I can help bodyguard, too. Between those of us in this group, we can probably protect you at all times without letting anyone know we’re doing it.”

Natasha nodded. “The less they know about what we’re up to, the better. Particularly that we’re on to them. If they suspect that, they may move up their plans to eliminate targets.”

He saw her knuckles go white as she gripped the armest. He could guess well enough that she was thinking about Sharon. He’d heard rumors that she was a spy still working on behalf of the Russians, and having met her, he had half a mind to challenge anyone who said that to him to a duel. 

“Skye, Coulson, Maria. You three have more investigative skills than nearly all the rest of us combined, excluding Ms. Romanoff.” He inclined his head to her. “Steve isn’t known to leave the palace much, but if the three of you and Dr. Ross could work together to track down as many leads as possible, I would appreciate it.”

Natasha glanced over at them. “Identify only, for now. We don’t want the crumbs. We want the cook.”

Betty raised her hand, glancing around at the others as if unsure of how these things worked. James couldn’t blame her. He wasn’t sure how it was supposed to go, either. He suspected there wasn’t a guide book for this sort of thing. “About the War... I’ve been meaning to talk to you. You’re... going to need more soldiers, right?”

“We always need them.” James leaned back in Coulson’s chair. “We’re reworking the legislation so we can send people back to the field more often than is strictly legal or wise.”

“I just... Dr. Erskine has been working on some theories. It may seem outlandish, but I’ve seen the formulas, and they might work.” She took a breath. “He’s been working on what he calls the super soldier project. It’s almost to the testing stage. He thinks he can enhance the soldiers we already have and help their chances of surviving the War as well as shortening the War altogether.”

James tapped his fingers against the desk, realized he was doing it with his prosthetic, and switched to something that wouldn’t leave a mark. His prosthetic was much like his old arm, but it was far, far stronger. “Would it work as well as the arm you got me?”

“I suggest talking to him. He has a strong interest in ending the War - his family was killed by the Axis years ago. If Queen Sharon will let them stay a little longer, Leo and Jemma can look at the numbers.”

He nodded, his opinion of Betty solidifying. He’d been right to invite her to the meeting. “I’ll talk to him, then.”

Coulson cleared his throat. “Do you know if Leo and Jemma like it here? Maybe they can stay longer...”

“No.” Natasha’s voice was firm. Her look to Coulson said she knew exactly what he was up to, and she would cut him into tiny pieces if she had to. 

Wisely, Coulson dropped the subject, though James suspected it was only a temporary reprieve. 

“I actually have something, too,” Skye said. “I think I can work out secure lines between us and Queen Sharon. It would take some doing, and at some point I’d have to set stuff up on her end, but if we don’t know who to trust, it would help us talk to each other without people hacking in or having to send couriers to each other.”

“Start making plans. Priority on determining whom we can trust,” James said firmly. “Let’s get to work.”

*

“Ow,” Sharon whined, her cheek hitting the mat yet again. Whereas Natasha had always fought like it was a dance, May fought like a damn hurricane. No matter where Sharon moved, the wind was there, forcing her back.

Even now, standing over her and holding out a hand, May betrayed nothing of the power that had put Sharon on the floor in the first place. “Stop whining. You lasted longer that time.”

She accepted the help and rubbed her cheek. “Oooh, a whole two seconds longer? Maybe one? Heart be still.”

May smirked, and then struck at her as fast as lightning. Sharon barely blocked it in time and belatedly countered with a hit to May’s ribs. The next thing she knew, she was looking up at May from the floor again. “Don’t celebrate blocking me in the middle of a fight,” May said calmly.

“Can I help it if I was surprised that I pulled it off?”

May pulled her up again, and the opening blow was slower. Sharon blocked it and managed to keep up as the pace gathered speed. She was still unprepared for a real fight, she knew that, but she liked to think she’d improved. May was an excellent teacher. 

When Sharon was covered in sweat and out of breath, May called the lesson. Sharon went to take a quick shower, and when she came out, May had been joined by Nick. Between them, they had eaten almost half of Sharon’s breakfast while reviewing files. She sulked at the nearly-empty plate, knowing Beth would never have given her so little food for her first meal of the day. She’d have a larger breakfast later with the rest of Court, but she liked the luxury of eating without hundreds of people watching her.

She grabbed the last piece of bacon and glared at them both as she chewed. “There are usually three strips of bacon.”

“We saved you one,” Nick told her, unruffled by her attitude. He turned to May. “I take it you figured out she isn’t a morning person.”

“Why do you think I drop her on the mat so fast as soon as she wakes up?”

“That’s it,” Sharon muttered darkly. She grabbed the tray and sat in a chair across from them. “No more of my breakfast for you two.” She inclined her head to the files as she buttered a roll. “Suspects or potential hires?”

“Both,” May answered. “But we’ll start with the potential hires. Clint Barton and Grant Ward have both been sent home from the Front for the mandatory six month rest and retraining period. Ward’s fighting skills are similar to Romanoff’s. Barton specializes in almost any form of fighting requiring distance and aim, something we don’t have on your team yet. They’re both single, though Barton has an ex who’s still fighting on the Front and a brother in some sort of traveling circus. Ward is estranged from his family. So they’ll each have plenty of time to serve.”

Sharon raised an eyebrow. The assessment was logical, even cold. She liked it. “Nick, you’ll be busy with official matters more in the coming months, and you might have to be apart from Peggy more. Do you think Ward would be a suitable bodyguard for her?”

Nick shrugged. “He has excellent scores, and his SO had nothing but praise for him.”

But Nick didn’t trust him based on the file. Sharon nodded. Neither did she. “Vet them as deeply as you can, May, and send them invitations for interviews. If they hedge because they want their rest, stress that it isn’t an invitation they can decline.”

May nodded. “I’ll start vetting Bobbi Morse, too. She’s Barton’s ex, but they work together well, and she’s due for R&R soon, too.”

Sharon’s lips twisted. “I remember when R&R stood for something else.”

“No, you don’t,” Nick muttered. “Freaking kid.”

She wrinkled her nose at him. “Okay. Interviews with them. Let’s not clue Morse in until she’s home and is less likely to get herself killed to avoid palace duty.” She knew all too well that most of the guards, many of them soldiers sent from the Front, wanted to do more than stand around for hours on end. Though the practice had started as a way of letting people relax, many soldiers complained that it only gave them too much time to think. “Let’s get to the good stuff. Any word from Natasha?”

Nick shook his head. “Nothing other than the daily check-ins on you and Peg. She mentioned that Antoine has gotten friendly with James, and she’ll keep an eye on them both while she’s there. Antoine has been more forthcoming, but he just said he plans on avoiding planes, trains, and automobiles. Don’t think he meant the movie.”

Sharon nodded. It sounded like Antoine was keeping himself out of trouble. Good. “How are we doing sniffing out our mysterious enemies?”

“We’re keeping an eye on Dr. Diaz. We’ve switched out the poison with placebos. They’ll make people ill enough that they’ll likely return to their rooms, which will give us an opportunity to get to them and spread the word of their death without them actually dying. So far, he hasn’t tried to kill anyone else, and I can’t even be certain which enemy agents he may or may not have had contact with.”

Sharon toyed with her eggs for a moment. “So how do we draw them out?” she murmured. She’d been turning the question over and over in her mind for days, but without knowledge of who their enemies were or what their plans were, everything seemed too risky. She’d lost too many people already; she wasn’t willing to lose the few people she trusted.

“A double agent,” May said. “There are certain challenges, but I think I might have found an agent who might do. Jasper Sitwell. He sustained injuries on the Front and is home on medical leave. My read is that he wants to do more and is getting frustrated that no one will let him. We can use that.”

“I’ll trust you to take lead with that.” As much as Sharon secretly enjoyed the managing the government sometimes, spy games were still beyond her capabilities. She trusted May to handle it.

“I’ll make contact today.” Sharon raised her eyebrow again. ‘Make contact.’ Not ‘meet with him.’ She got the feeling she should pity Mr. Sitwell. But she’d do it later, when she actually had time.

“Right,” she said slowly. “And we’ve got three weeks until the coronation. I’ll be dealing with that most of the day, and trying to find reasons for James, Antoine, and Rikki not to come. There are too many risks with the remaining nobility all in the same place at the same time, and with the plane and car crashes recently...” She sighed and put her empty tray aside. “But I still have twenty minutes until real breakfast, so let’s see what other files we can get through.”

*

“Are you sure these designs will work?” Yinsen asked. Despite how they were alone and their captors didn’t seem to speak English, he instinctively spoke in a low tone. Tony had taken to doing the same. Sure, Tony had an ego, but that ego deserved the opportunity to shine; his corpse wouldn’t let his ego do that as well as a living Tony would.

Tony had other reasons for wanting to survive, too. While on a tour of the encampment so the Rings members could try to intimidate him with their power and might, he’d spotted his name on some of their weaponry. It didn’t take his enormous intellect to figure out whose designs had brought down the royals’ plane, killed the king and queen, and nearly killed him and Yinsen. He hadn’t been conscious during the attack, but from what Yinsen had told him about the plane losing power, he had a good idea of which piece of Stark technology had been used. Now all he had to do was figure out how the Ten Rings had gotten Stark tech.

No, he had to do more than that. He had to make it right.

“I’m a supergenius with tools and forced sobriety.” Tony lowered the helmet. “If it doesn’t work, I deserve to die.” He ended the conversation by turning on the soldering iron.

*

Steve had rarely felt more out of place. The lunch table had been set in James’ apartment, and Steve picked apart a roll as he wondered what he was doing with James, Sam, Natasha, Dr. Ross, and Dr. Erskine. They were royalty, bodyguards, and scientists. He was a painter.

“So we’d essentially have entire troops of super soldiers at our command,” James said.

Steve shook his head, about to say that James was close but not quite there, but Dr. Erskine got there first. “Not quite, your Majesty. The serum... it cannot make from nothing. It will make a person healthier, yes. Smarter. Faster. Stronger. But it cannot make good where there is no goodness. If a person is bad, he will be worse. If a person is good, he will be better. The idea is not to make everyone a super soldier, it is to find the best soldiers and make them better.”

“And you’re almost ready for testing?”

“Yes, yes. As soon as funding comes through. It is impolite to talk about, but-”

“-But nothing happens without money,” James finished. “I’ve born witness to a shrinking treasury for years and now find myself in charge of it when there’s a war going on with no sign of stopping. I’m aware of the importance of money.”

“Of course, your Majesty.”

James sighed. “But it sounds... worth trying. I’ll pay for a test.”

“Which means we just need to find a soldier we can trust,” Natasha reminded him.

Steve saw his chance and cleared his throat. “Does it have to be a soldier?”

All eyes turned to him, and he tried not to feel self-conscious about how they were obviously sizing him up. Most of them were too nice to say anything, but Natasha snorted.

“You said it could make people faster, stronger, and healthier, and we all know it has to be someone James can trust.” He looked at James and shrugged. “What’m I going to do otherwise while the War’s going on? Sketch?”

“Steve. This isn’t a sure thing, and you don’t have training. You’re not a soldier, pal.”

Steve frowned. “You need soldiers on the front more than you need paintings. Hell, just take digital pictures of yourself and hang them up. You can be the Selfie King. But all I’m doing right now is taking up oxygen. You’ve gotta let me be useful, James. Besides. I’ve wanted to serve since I was a kid and no one would let me. If this can help me be a soldier, period, that’s better than nothing, right? At least if I just turn healthier, we can get vaccines or something.”

James hung his head, but he still didn’t seem inclined to approve of the plan.

Dr. Erskine, on the other hand, was looking at Steve as if sizing him up anew. “You could die.”

Steve hesitated, then shrugged. He’d grown up like so many other children, with a parent who had died in the War. He didn’t have any illusions about the War’s cost. “There are people dying in the War every day. Why should I do any less?”

Dr. Erskine turned to James. “If you’ll allow your friend to undertake the test, I think it might go very well. Provided, of course, he does not explode.”

Steve had chosen an unfortunate time to chew a piece of bread. Over his coughs, Erskine said, “Kidding. Just kidding!” But Steve couldn’t miss his murmured undertone of, “Probably.”

*

Barton had an aversion to chairs.

“Your codename is Hawkeye?” Sharon asked, pretending she hadn’t seen the file before. She had to hand it to May; not many could get such a quick response. But Barton had shown up for his interview by teatime, and Ward’s interview was scheduled for later that day.

“Yes, ma’am.”

He hadn’t used her title, but Sharon wasn’t in the habit of using it, either.

“I mean sir.”

She frowned at him over the file. Was he joking?

“Your Majesty,” May said softly from behind her. She glanced at Sharon. “Military structure calls for women to be called sir unless specified otherwise.”

“Ah,” she murmured. Just someone who didn’t understand how the system worked. She expected that, if hired, there would be other such problems. The manners of the nobility, and particularly the royals, were very different from those of the commoners. Barton had been raised in carnivals, and those places didn’t have gilded silverware or a different outfit for each event. Or at least, the few Sharon had been to abroad hadn’t. “You can call me Sharon in private, if that makes things easier for you. How did you get the name Hawkeye?”

He pointed at his eyes, his relief about his faux pas covered by his confidence in his skill. “It’s an archery term. Good eyesight and good aim, ma’am. Majesty.” He looked between her and May, and Sharon held up a hand before things could go downhill.

“Sharon, for fuck’s sake,” she told him. And had that been her imagination, or had there been a ghost of a smile there? 

He nodded, and Sharon set the file down.

“What are your thoughts on palace duty?”

His face fell. “Duty’s duty, ma- Sharon.”

Sharon nodded. “What if I told you that your palace duty might still involve a lot of boredom, but might also include staving off multiple assassination attempts?”

Barton frowned. “Don’t they all?” His mouth dropped open as a thought occurred to him, but he quickly closed it again.

“When I had only Romanoff with me, she saved my life no fewer than three times. Now, with me being Queen and my coronation right around the corner, there’s more of a chance than ever of someone trying to kill me. Only two remaining heirs stands between me and this country being engulfed in civil war. So you can see why I have an interest in surviving long enough to ensure the line continues.”

He nodded. When she didn’t continue, he said, “I’ve seen enough war abroad. Don’t want to see it at home.”

“I will also ask you to tutor me in your particular skillset. Oddly enough, not many people believe princesses or queens should be able to shoot people if there’s need. One rudimentary security class, and they unleash us on the world. I’d appreciate a more than rudimentary knowledge about guns and the like.”

Barton hesitated. “My specialty is archery, actually.”

“Then teach me that. And as much about guns as you know. Now. The most important question of the interview. How much will your vision insurance cost?” She smirked at the face he pulled. “Don’t look so glum, Barton. I’m sure someone will try to kill me by the end of the week.”

*

Melinda watched Sitwell fumble for his gun and pursed her lips. Not the most promising of starts. Once the gun was trained on her, it was quickly lowered as Sitwell recognized her. 

She showed him Diaz’s picture. “Dr. Diaz. One of the palace doctors. Befriend him. Report to me everything he says, everyone he sees.” She pointed to a small pile of bugs on the table. She hadn’t met Fitz and Simmons yet, given that they were in the States, but the bugs were enough to inspire a degree of admiration. They were works of art. Tiny, almost unnoticeable. “Plant those wherever you can. Keep griping about your low lot in life.” She moved closer. “If you betray me in this, I will do things to you that will make the devil himself take notes when he can actually bear to look.”

She moved to the door. “And get quicker. Your gun work is sloppy.”

*

“Are you sure about this, Doc?” Steve asked. He wasn’t concerned about how big the coffin-like machine was. Nor was he self-conscious about only wearing his boxers - at least, he wasn’t as bothered by that has he had been a week ago, when the medical testing had first started. His main concern was the size of the needles that looked like they’d go entirely through him. 

“Yes, of course.” Erskine grinned at him and waved a hand dismissively. “No problem.”

“Please tell me you didn’t finish the schnapps this morning.”

Erskine’s grin widened. “You are a good man, Steve. But you are stupid for thinking I’d answer that honestly right now.”

Steve managed a weak smile and hoped he was joking. He gave a small wave to the group in the observation room upstairs, James and Sam among them, and nodded to Erskine. The lid closed, and Steve took a deep breath. He grunted as the needles plunged deep into his flesh. For a moment, he thought he heard screaming, but he was too busy feeling like his insides were burning to realize it was coming from him.

*

James jumped to his feet as he heard Steve’s scream. He shouted at Erskine to stop the project, rushing down the stairs with the others. In all the years he had known Steve, James had never heard him scream like that before. 

He touched the ground just as Erskine opened the door. Now that the screaming had ceased and several of the instrument panels fizzed out after exploding, the room seemed unnaturally quiet. Everyone was focused on the box and what was within. James pulled up short, staring. 

“Is it over?” Steve asked dumbly. His head lolled for a moment, and then he looked over them all as if checking to make sure they were all right. James was relieved to see that his eyes were as alert as they’d ever been. “What happened?” He frowned. “Did you guys get shorter?”

“You got.. taller,” James said slowly. He looked to Erskine. If this was what the super soldier serum could do... So long as Steve was truly healthy, he wanted Erskine to make more soldiers like him. With soldiers like Steve, they could win the War. No more soldiers coming home with scars seen and unseen, missing limbs, coming home in boxes or not at all. With soldiers like Steve, they could keep people alive. The children growing up now might not even have to fight at all.

“Feel taller,” Steve agreed. “Doc, what do you th- Doc?”

Steve was already across the room by the time James realized Erskine had fallen. “What-”

Natasha knelt beside them as Erskine gasped for breath and clutched his chest. She looked at Steve, and while he was too busy to see her expression, James could read it perfectly. 

Nonetheless, James looked for a phone, only to see that Sam was already on his cell and calling for an ambulance. He met Sam’s eyes and understood what he was thinking as well. They both knew the ambulance would arrive too late.

*

“How could he have been poisoned?” Steve demanded, looking at them all. Even with his new body, the frustration on his face was the same as it had been before. “He and I have eaten meals together for days. I’m fine.” He looked down at his muscles, still awed that they seemed to be a part of his body. “Did the serum burn it out?”

Natasha shook her head. “According to the autopsy, there was a puncture wound in Dr. Erskine’s hand.”

“Why didn’t they just shoot him, if they were going to get rid of him?”

“It would draw too much attention,” Natasha explained. “We’d know he was murdered. We’d have a suspect. We’d have someone specific to focus on. This way, we might never have known he’d been murdered if James hadn’t ordered such a thorough autopsy. It was made to look like a heart attack. This was meant to keep us as in the dark as possible. We have to pretend we’re still in the dark, too. It increases our chances of finding out more about them. If they suspect we know something, they may move the timetable up.”

Steve was silent. They were thinking of Erskine as a cog in a machine, but Steve had known him as more than that. Over their days of tests and theorizing, the two had talked about the War, about life, even about morality. No, especially about morality. Erskine cared- _had_ cared deeply about morality. He had told Steve that he’d thought Steve would make a good soldier because he was first a good man, that no matter what happened, it was important to remain a good man. Steve could only try to meet his expectations. “His family died in the War. I know we can’t inter him with his family, but-”

James set a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Steve gripped his friend’s hand, stopping quickly when he realized that not only was his hand larger, it was stronger. He stared at his fingers as he flexed them. “I guess I’d better see what I can do, too.”

“We’ll start out slow,” Betty told him. “Physically, your body is holding up fine. We’re just going to run some simulations to see what your new capabilities might be. If you’re ready now, we can go down to the training facility and start.”

He nodded and got to his feet. No one spoke, and it took him a moment to realize they were all staring at him. They had to crane their necks now to do so. “It unnerves me, too,” he said, faintly embarrassed. He tried to run his hand through his hair, but his shirt was too small - the sleeves pinched at his arms when he moved and the hem rose up to expose his stomach. He awkwardly dropped his arm and tugged the shirt back in place.

“Sam? Why don’t you go with Betty and Steve and keep an eye on them?” James suggested. 

Sam got to his feet. “So what are the odds that I can get what Steve got?”

Betty shook his head. “Only Dr. Erskine knew the whole formula. He didn’t trust anyone with it. Given the current state of affairs, it wasn’t unreasonable of him.” She looked at Steve, and Steve hated to see the sadness there. “So Steve here is the only one.”

Sam looked from her to Steve, and Steve wondered why they both looked worried. “Damn,” Sam joked at last. “Then I’d better get some wings or something.”

Coulson’s phone rang, and he half-waved as the three left. He listened for several seconds, responded tersely, and then got to his feet. “And some reporter was just got caught trying to break into sealed palace records. I’ve got to deal with that. Hill, catch me up later?”

When the door closed behind him, Natasha turned to James. “And I’m sending FitzSimmons back home. With Sharon’s coronation, I want them helping with security.”

James got a sinking feeling. Natasha would have to return for the coronation, too. Even if she didn’t leave with Jemma and Leo, she wouldn’t stay much longer. The coronation was in less than three weeks. “Of course. I assume you’ll need to go with them as well.”

“I’ll give it a couple more days. I don’t feel comfortable leaving things the way they are.”

James glanced at Antoine, Maria, and Skye. This wasn’t the time to ask Natasha if she’d like to talk about her concerns over dinner. “That’s good.” Wait. No. She had just said she didn’t feel comfortable. That wasn’t good. “That you’ll be staying longer, I mean.” He almost added that he should go before it occurred to him that they were in his rooms.

Antoine and Natasha looked at each other. “Well, I should go get something to eat. Hill, Skye? You two hungry?” With knowing glances between the three of them, they left. Antoine and Skye’s voices could be heard bouncing food ideas back and forth, fading as they left James and Natasha alone.

Natasha turned to face James. Her eyes moved to the door.

“I’ll be fine on my own, if you want to go.”

She frowned at him. “If Sharon finds out I was the last person to see you alive, and I’m not dead myself... No. I’ll stay.”

James sighed. This wasn’t how he’d wanted to ask her- not that he’d been thinking about asking her- not out, exactly. But he could take the hint nonetheless. “I was going to order dinner. Want to stay and make sure it isn’t poisoned?”

She smirked. “Sure. Someone has to keep you from dying.”

He looked around at the near-empty room. “You know, there was a day when people couldn’t leave until the king dismissed them.”

“I’m only keeping you from dying, your Majesty. Even I’m not up to the task of protecting your feelings.”

*

Tony crashed to the ground for the second time that month. This time, he was awake throughout, and he found himself wishing he weren’t.

He gave himself several seconds to lie on the sand. Yinsen hadn’t made it out. Maybe he had never intended to make it out. He’d wanted to rejoin his family. Hadn’t mentioned until too late that his family had died in the War. Tony had thought Yinsen’s family was somewhere in the States, he hadn’t thought that Yinsen’s family might be-

Damn it, Tony had lost his family, too, but no one saw him giving up.

Damn it, Yinsen.

Tony rolled over onto his back and groaned. His new heart was holding out. Heh, heart. How many people would build themselves a limitless power supply to deflect shrapnel from killing him and call that a heart? He’d always been one of a kind. He was a Stark after all. And he was tougher to kill than dear old dad.

Now all he had to do was come up with a way back to civilization.

He’d just give himself another minute. He deserved that much. And he could use the resting time to think about improvements for his prototype. If he focused on the equations, he wouldn’t have to think about what had happened in the cave. 

God damn it, Yinsen.

*

Coulson sat across the table from the blonde woman and crossed his arms. He recognized her, of course. Everyone recognized Christine Everhart, if only by her voice. She was the one who had revealed to King James in the middle of his press conference that his parents were dead. 

“I thought reporters have sources,” he said lightly.

She rolled her eyes but kept herself from answering immediately. “I thought palace security would know what sources I have.”

“You don’t have any in the palace archives.” That much was obvious. She wouldn’t have been breaking in otherwise. “My question is, why were you poking around in there in the first place?”

Her expression twisted, on the verge of making a sarcastic remark, most likely, and then relaxed. “I think something’s going on.” 

Coulson’s face betrayed nothing; his sardonic smile stayed in place throughout. “It’s the palace. Something’s always going on. Gary in shipping steals a couple stamps every month. Is that what you mean?”

She glared at him. “I mean, I think someone messed with their plane. I haven’t found proof yet, but it can’t be a coincidence. But it got me thinking. Queen Sharon’s parents died last year. The Tsar and his family died in the revolution. Princess Rebecca was thrown from her horse, and everyone thought it was a terrible accident, but what if it was something more? The Barnes line has one person left, the Carters have three. Rikki Barnes is in line for both thrones. It’s only a matter of time before someone tries to kill her, too. The only country whose lineage is probably safe is Wakanda.”

Almost impressive. Whoever had taken pains to destroy the royals had acted too much, too quickly. Not only had the royals started to suspect something amiss, a reporter was now trying to find proof, too. “Are you suggesting that the Carters are after the Barnes’ throne? That maybe Queen Sharon wants to be an Empress?”

“Does she?” Christine studied him sharply, then slowly shook her head. “No. I’ve heard she’s beefed up security. She’s scared, too, and she should be. Their treasury is running low with the War, and the only relatives she has left to inherit either reportedly don’t want the throne or are too young for it.”

“Then you think what, exactly? That some sinister, shadowy organization is out to kill all the royals?”

Christine hesitated. “Not necessarily.”

“But you’re not ruling it out.”

“I can’t. Not until I disprove it.”

Coulson’s grin might have twitched into a smile for a brief moment. He stood. “You could have made a brilliant detective, Ms. Everhart, though the lack of evidence is disheartening. I suspect that a warning for trespass is enough for now. But I’d be careful about your investigation. If there really is a conspiracy, they won’t care much about killing a reporter.”

“Are you going to tell the King his life might be in danger?”

Coulson turned to give her another grin. “He’s the King, Ms. Everhart. His life is always in danger.”

*

“Five bucks says he tries to ask her out,” Skye said, pointing her spoon at Antoine. Maria had left over an hour ago, and she and Antoine were now the only ones left in the cafeteria, talking and eating ice cream. It wasn’t the first time they’d talked long enough to get left behind. Skye actually enjoyed their talks, and she thought he did, too. For royalty, he seemed pretty down to earth, and - dare she say it - _fun._

“He likes her, but he can’t ask her out,” Antoine insisted. “He’s got to find someone of royal blood.”

“What’s he gonna do, ask you out? Twenty bucks.” She stirred the ice cream and wondered if she should go get more. This was turning more and more into soup.

He grinned and leaned back against the wall. “Keep driving the price up all you like. I’m not going to complain about taking your money.”

“I’m telling you, he likes her. A _lot._ He asked her to be his aunt.”

Antoine shuddered. “Yeah. I was there for that.”

She took a large bite and watched him as she swallowed it down. “Think she likes him, too?”

His spoon froze halfway to his mouth. “You think _I’m_ going to ask her? I’m one of the people she’s supposed to be protecting, and I am _not_ going to ask her if she likes the King of the United States.”

Skye stopped bouncing in her seat. “Coward.”

“Damn straight I am.”

He grinned and ducked when she tried to lob a spoonful of melted ice cream at him.

*

Despite how she wasn’t interested in him, James still decided to take Natasha on a tour around the palace. “Be honest,” he told her. “How much have you already snuck around this place on your own?”

“If I told you, you wouldn’t exactly think well of your security.”

“Given how many people might be trying to kill me at any given time, that’s very kind of you.”

There was a ghost of a smile on her lips, and he turned from a painting before he dwelled on it too much. He was beginning to get a feel for her. She felt strongly, but preferred not to show her feelings, as if they were some sort of weakness. She had a guarded sense of humor that she’d only recently begun to show him. He wasn’t sure if it meant she liked him, but he knew it was a mark of something good.

He led her to the next painting in the gallery. “Another portrait of my parents that Steve did. His mom used to work here as a maid before she died, and his dad died in the War. Steve and I grew up together, and my parents paid for him to take art classes. Father always liked how he painted Mother.” And looking at the portrait, it was easy to see why. His mother was resting in a chair, her legs thrown over the armrest, and her face was caught in a laugh. He wondered how hard Steve had worked to make sure his mother looked as if she were actually moving. She looked relaxed, happy. The only indication of her royal status was a crown resting on a table nearby.

“He was probably only nineteen when he painted this,” he continued. “He’s an incredible painter.”

“Are you jealous?”

He looked at her sharply. Had he sounded jealous? Rather than deny it immediately, though, he took the time to ponder the question. She would only think he was lying if he answered too quickly. “I was always under more scrutiny than he was,” he admitted at last. “My father was constantly worried what sort of king I would be. I think Steve allowed them the opportunity to raise someone and not have to think about the catastrophic result of any of his failures.” He studied the lines of his mother’s face, lines Steve could likely trace from memory when James himself had difficulty, and shook his head. He couldn’t help but remember things differently since he’d come back from the War; his experiences there had not only scarred his mind but warped the good memories of his time before. “But jealous of Steve? No.”

“Not even now?” she pressed.

He grinned. “Why, because I’m worried he’ll get all the girls?”

She shrugged. “Or because he’s as close to the ideal man as most people will ever see.”

He grunted. “That hurt. But no. Not even now. I might envy the freedom that comes with not being a monarch, but Steve is my best friend. I’m not going to begrudge him anything good in his life.”

“A best friend I was hoping to talk to you about, in addition to other things.” They both turned as Alexander Pierce walked toward them as if he owned the palace. His footsteps were silent on the plush carpet, and Natasha, taken by surprise, had dropped into a fighter’s stance that she quickly relaxed. Pierce gave her a nod of acknowledgement before focusing again on James. “I noticed your friend had a growth spurt recently.”

“He volunteered for an experiment of sorts,” James said politely. “Ms. Romanoff, may I present Mr. Alexander Pierce. Mr. Pierce was one of my parents’ advisors. Mr. Pierce, this is Ms. Romanoff. She’s visiting and trying to lure Lord Triplett back home.”

“If she’s decided to try, then we’ll miss Lord Triplett.” Pierce smiled and looked to James. “A word, your Majesty?”

James nodded and found that Natasha was already gliding away, though her eyes remained firmly on Pierce. She didn’t trust Pierce, and James doubted she would wander far. “How may I help you, Mr. Pierce?”

“I was actually wondering how I might help you, your Majesty. I advised your parents for decades. I confess I was surprised and not a little hurt when you seemingly forgot my years of devoted service.”

“I didn’t forget it,” James assured him. “But I wish to rule differently than my parents, and as such, I need different advisers.”

Pierce gave a thin smile and nodded. “None of us old folks. I see.” Before James could protest - after all, he wasn’t certain how old Coulson was - Pierce continued. “Perhaps I can still help, then. I know some young people whose guidance I think you would find invaluable. They would certainly be able to help ease the trasition between your parents’ reign and your own, if nothing else. I trust them to look after the best interests of you and your people.”

“I would be happy to consider them.” James kept his tone polite. How many people, he wondered, had as much access to War intelligence and to his parents as Alexander Pierce? He may not have any proof yet that Pierce was involved, but his ability to say exactly what people wanted to hear didn’t endear him to James. He wondered if the absence of evidence could be considered evidence in itself.

“I’ll have their names to you by supper.” 

James nodded, and Pierce bowed. As soon as he was out of sight, James wasn’t surprised to find Natasha back at his side. In another universe, he liked to think they would have made an excellent team. “He’s going to send over some suggestions for young people to advise me since I explained I don’t want any of my parents’ advisers.”

“I know. I can read lips.” If she noticed his rueful expression, she didn’t acknowledge it.

“I’d say that list and Pierce are going to make some good suspects.”

Natasha’s smile was the biggest he’d ever seen since he’d met her.

*

Betty knocked softly on James’ door, enterring quietly when he called that it was open. She didn’t waste time. “The Wakandan ambassador heard back from T’Challa. They’re willing to provide the vibranium and call it a gift between the nations. I wanted to see if you wanted any changes to the specs before I sent them to T’Challa.”

James set his pen down. Skye had prepared files for every person Pierce had recommended, as well as Pierce himself, and James had read them so many times that his head ached. “Yes, th-” He paused, then leaned back in his chair.

“Betty... Do you think they’d be willing to do something else with the vibranium?”

“What did you have in mind?”

“We only have one super soldier. We’d be remiss if we didn’t protect him while he’s protecting everyone else.” He drummed his fingers against the desk. “Ask if they’d be willing to make a shield.”

She nodded. “There’s one more thing. Jane Foster - you may remember her from your welcome-home ball - she’s got a lab in New Mexico, and she called me and told me that she needs to show me something for the War immediately. She said she could show you, too, but with so much going on... I know the timing is terrible, but if she is really on to something, we need to get on it before someone else does. If I could have a day or two...”

James’ smile was tired. “Take two. You deserve three, even a week, but I’m not sure I can spare you that long. Do something fun for yourself, though. That’s an order.”

She smiled and nodded. “And don’t overextend yourself, James. The arm doesn’t make you superhuman, no matter how many extras Leo loaded it with.”

James smirked. “I can do a chin-up with one arm. I’d say that’s pretty superhuman, wouldn’t you?”

“No way am I telling you about the super soldier in the basement that can run over eight miles in less than five minutes.” 

“Wow. Shouldn’t you be on a plane by now, Ross?”

*

Antoine’s disguise was shoddy. He’d always hated the concepts of disguises, and the threats to his life made no difference. Going out in public wearing only a baseball cap and a different jacket may have been a stupid act of rebellion, but if someone was going to try to kill him, he didn’t see what he could really do to stop them. Living in hiding at the White Palace was no way to survive, that was for sure. He liked the people there, but the tedium was starting to get to him. It didn’t help that he knew he couldn’t leave without some sort of protective detail.

He’d served on the front lines of the War; he hadn’t come back just to be babysat. Besides, if someone wanted to kill him badly enough, they would find a way. The White Palace wasn’t as safe as the Palace Guard liked to think. 

If he were being honest with himself, part of him was looking forward to an assassination attempt. It had been a while since someone had tried to kill him.

Once he got back from this little adventure, he should see if anyone could suggest a good therapist.

He made it to the garage without anyone stopping him and found the chauffeur sitting in front of a computer, intent on pictures of parts. Antoine cleared his throat. “Hey, man. Any chance I can get my car out and take it for a spin?”

The chauffeur jumped, and Antoine watched as the man slowly recognized him. “Of course, sir. If you like, I can drive you. King James has no plans to leave the palace today.”

Antoine held up a hand. “Driving is one of the few freedoms I get. I’m going to enjoy it while I can, thanks. But if you want to come along, I wouldn’t say no. When’s the last time someone drove you someplace, huh?”

The chauffeur shook his head. “Wouldn’t know what to do.” He led the way down the line of cars, all of them spotless. The last one in the row had pieces scattered out across a thick sheet.

“What happened there?” Antoine asked.

“Just thought I’d see if I could make the engine go faster. King James doesn’t travel as much as his parents, so I have time to tinker.”

Antoine nodded. “Might let you tinker with my car when I get back. You can go crazy with it.” He spotted his car and took the keys as soon as the chauffeur proffered them. He swung himself into the drivers’ seat and stuck his head out the window. “Hey. What’s your name?”

“Mack. Just Mack. Mechanic around here.”

Antoine grinned. “Mack the Mechanic. Got it. Thanks, Mack.” 

“Anytime, sir.” 

Once he got to the intersection for the road, Antoine stopped and texted Sam. Taking your spot visiting vets. Don’t be too jealous. I’m just gonna make them love me more than they do you. I’ll be home by dinner.

He pulled into the street and took a deep breath. After being cooped up in the palace since James had come home, followed by the sternly-advised house arrest that had made all the rooms seem smaller, this was the best he’d felt in a long time.


	4. Coronation & Kidnapping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a death in the family. Betty runs into trouble. Steve and Skye are sent to attend Sharon's coronation. Jane takes matters into her own hands and a very tiny car. A kidnapping threatens a kingdom.

Maria closed the door behind her. “They found his car. He supposedly crashed into a tree. They’re still putting out the flames.”

Natasha clenched and unclenched her fists. “It’s less than two weeks until the coronation. Why the hell would he be so stupid?” No one answered, and she shook her head. “It’s past time I get home. She’ll need more protection now than ever.”

James nodded. There were circles under his eyes. The search for Antoine had lasted well into the night. As irrational as it was, he’d hoped they would find him alive. “Give her my best.”

Natasha nodded, and then she was gone.

James dropped his head onto the desk. “Tell me we have something. Somebody. Please.”

Skye cleared her throat. Her eyes were red; tears had left stains on her face. Right, James thought. She and Antoine had become close since they’d started working together. “Pierce has a series of email addresses that he uses as drop boxes. He puts messages in the drafts folder, so there’s no record of the email being sent. But anyone who accesses the email from anywhere in the world can read the message. Problem is, he’s encrypted the messages. I’m working on it. And I’m also setting up a trap so I’ll be able to trace anyone who accesses that email account.”

James nodded, considered the situation, and took a deep breath. “Skye, Steve, I want you both to attend Sharon’s coronation. Steve, you’ll attend as dignitary, since I can’t go. The press will accept that I’m not going for security reasons or some urgent matter, whatever we decide. Skye, I want you to take the opportunity to work your computer magic over there. We have leads, but we need more. And ultimately, we need proof. You two can also take our gift over.” He sighed and rubbed his temple. “The coronation gift and now... something for Antoine. I’ll try and come up with something.”

Skye lowered her head. He wasn’t sure if the gesture was meant as a nod or if she was simply trying to hide her face. Either way, he wasn’t going to push.

“You need more security,” Sam said firmly. “With Natasha and Antoine gone, and soon Steve and Skye, too...”

James rubbed his temples. “Coulson, I hate to ask...”

“You’re my king. It’s my privilege to watch you sleep.”

James frowned at him.

“In a bodyguarding capacity,” Coulson said quickly. “Hill can help during the day.” 

Hill, rolling her eyes at Coulson, nodded. “I’ll start finding other candidates, your Majesty.”

Coulson lifted his chin. “I know some mercenaries, too, if you think you might want to hire some for extra security.”

“The only way that can hurt is if someone pays them to kill me.” James returned to rubbing his temples. It wasn’t exactly relaxing, thinking about all the ways someone could kill him and, without an heir, plunge the country into civil war. He could always find some princess no one knew about, have lots of kids, and- No. Then he’d worry about his family getting killed. And he couldn’t very well shove this problem on anyone else. “Get me their files. At least Betty’s getting a vacation.”

*

The plane was crashing. Betty clutched the armrests. People around her screamed and sobbed, but Betty’s mind buzzed with activity too much for it to be overtaken by fear. She swallowed. No, the thing that bothered her - the thing that _pissed her off_ \- was the probability that someone had brought down the damn plane and killed all of these people because of her affiliation with James.

If she survived this, she was going to screw over these asshole bad guys so hard they’d wish they’d never escaped their mother’s womb.

She reached out and managed to grasp one of the oxygen masks that had fallen from the ceiling, pulling it into place on the boy beside her. His mother was panicking too hard to do it herself.

Betty tried to catch her own mask as the plane shook and shuddered when the plane suddenly wrenched to the side. She lifted her head, expecting that to have been an explosion, but a second later, there was another change in direction, then another. Something was pushing them by... what, slamming its force into them?

She grasped the armrests again. This was the last time she requested a window seat.

When the wall beside her was ripped away, her first thought was that window seats should never have been invented. Her second thought was shock at seeing an impossibly tall, impossibly green humanoid figure holding part of the plane wall over its head.

*

The palace was in mourning again, black cloth over the mirrors and black flags covering the banners that had been set in place for Sharon’s coronation. Outside, the flag was at half-mast. Natasha frowned at it all as she walked past. Some of the office doors were open wide enough that Natasha could hear the news reports about Antoine’s death. The twenty-four-hour news had hardly stopped speculating what this meant for Sharon’s reign. Some people were talking about how her mental state might crumble after this death and the deaths of her parents, some were talking about it as an omen - Natasha wasn’t sure how those so-called “experts” got air time - and some mourned Antoine because he, as a king, would make a better monarch.

She heard someone shout to change the bloody channel and smirked. That was more like it.

Rumlow gave her a nod as Natasha approached the door to Sharon’s office. She nodded in return and gave a brief nod before letting herself in.

May was already on her feet, ready for a fight, but she relaxed and sat down again when she saw who it was. Sharon froze halfway through calling for her to come in, and for a moment she stared at Natasha, her eyes and nose red.

Natasha swallowed. Ever since Antoine’s car had been found, her thoughts had been on protecting Sharon. It hadn’t occurred to her until she saw Sharon’s face that she might be fired for failing to protect her queen’s cousin. She wanted to say that she hadn’t been able to protect Antoine, to apologize. But she hadn’t been trained to make excuses. She closed the door behind her and prepared herself for what may come.

She wasn’t prepared for the hug that Sharon engulfed her in, though.

“About time you’re back,” Sharon murmured. “Now May can finally take a break.”

May rolled her eyes and shook her head. 

Natasha awkwardly patted Sharon’s arm and waited for the hugging to end. It wasn’t worse than being fired, she supposed, but if the hug lasted much longer, she was hard pressed to back that up with facts.

*

Betty hugged her knees to her chest. This wasn’t good. This was very, very _not_ good. The plane was miles away. She’d been kidnapped by some giant green monster. It was like something out of myth. After all, Thor existed. Maybe this was some sort of Norse minotaur or something.

She should have studied more mythology before she got on that plane.

She doubted it would help much. She was in the middle of nowhere, alone where the creature had left her. Probably somewhere in Texas. Or Arizona, maybe. Which meant she could walk for help and probably die from dehydration before even seeing another town.

There was a heavy crash nearby, and Betty braced herself. She turned slowly, her fingers curling into a fist. Her dad had taught her self-defense. It wouldn’t do much good against a monster, but she wasn’t going down without a fight.

Instead, she found the creature pushing a box of deli sandwiches toward her. It looked like it had pulled them from a dumpster - and the expiration date didn’t dissuade her. There was no way they weren’t stale, but they appeared to be clean and mold-free.

She opened the box and examined them more closely. The creature shoved a twenty-four pack of water toward her, six of the bottles crushed.

She studied him with renewed interest. “Okay, big guy. Who are you and what do you want?”

*

“They always were creative in the worst ways,” Peggy mused as she looked over the newspapers scattered around Sharon’s room. Several of them had been torn, balled up, or stomped on. Sharon had managed to burn one with a candle before Natasha had started taking the papers away from her. “You shouldn’t be reading such filth today, my dear.”

“No one should be reading it ever, Aunt Peggy.” She gasped for breath in front of the mirror as Natasha and Barton stood aside. Natasha’s eyes were held fast on the hair stylist; Beth was overseeing all the work on Sharon’s hair, makeup, and dress, but as she couldn’t do it all herself, they’d had to bring in outside help that Natasha didn’t entirely trust. Barton’s eyes were hidden by mirrored sunglasses, but Sharon knew that he was paying close attention to everything around him. Through her training with him, he’d impressed her with not only how clearly he saw his environment and different situations, but how _much_ he saw. He wasn’t the most polished individual, but she’d enjoyed her talks with him and May in May’s office enough that she was considering inviting him to the inner sanctum.

Of course, if she did it now, she might ask him to kill some reporters for her, and in her youth, Peggy had warned her about giving commands people wouldn’t follow through, or that Sharon would regret. Instead, Sharon did the next best thing she could think of. “Barton. Think you could use this crap for target practice?”

“I can definitely set it on fire for you, ma’am.” After all the weeks she’d known him, he still felt most comfortable calling her ‘ma’am.’ She’d had too much to do to pick a fight over it. He caught Natasha’s eye and added, “Not in the palace, though.” 

“It doesn’t deserve the honor of dying in the palace anyway. Damn. Like women have never ruled this country before? Like any kings matched Elizabeth or Victoria?” She growled in anger.

“Twice as hard for half the credit,” Peggy reminded her gently. “Though it’s more like three times for a third these days, it seems. But you’ll make it look easy, dear.”

“Not as easy as you made it look,” Sharon told her. “The world would be very different if you were queen, Aunt Peggy.”

“I was just thinking how much I enjoyed not being one.”

Sharon sighed, and the hair stylist stepped back. She surveyed herself in the mirrors, moved her head to test how well her hair would stay in place, and nodded. “Thank you. And thank God we don’t have to do this every day.” She grinned, and the hairstylist grinned back before bobbing a curtsy and leaving. “Okay, Hawkeye. Now comes the worst part, so no peeking.”

Barton made a face and moved to the window, and with Natasha and Beth to help her, Sharon moved to put on the coronation dress.

*

“He still hasn’t made any contact that I know about,” Sitwell told her in an undertone. As dangerous as it was to see each other face to face, May had taken advantage of the chaos surrounding the coronation to risk it. They talked while Sitwell made sure his uniform was up to standard in the mirror. “Diaz doesn’t like the Queen, though. Or any of the royals. He hasn’t come out and said that Russia had the right idea, but he’s critical of the nobles. _Very_ critical. He’s mentioned a couple times that one day people will get sick of it and rise up against them.”

“And did you agree with him?”

Sitwell, to his credit, looked disgusted. “I don’t like getting sidelined, so yes, I did. But everybody knows that the Royal Treasury is getting low, and Queen Sharon is still investing in better tech and more body armor. That isn’t a sign of a bad monarch. Hell, you’re even letting me test some of it out.”

“Do they suspect you?”

He hesitated, then shook his head. “Not that I can tell. He wants me to go to a meeting later this week and says I won’t regret it. I think it might be something.”

“Good. Keep it up.” She moved to the door, but Sitwell moved closer and stopped her.

“Good luck,” he said warmly. “And my best to the Queen.”

She looked him up and down until he got the hint to get out of her way, and then she nodded and took her leave. She had a meeting with one of King James’ spies to attend to.

*

“You think you found something that the authorities missed,” James repeatedly slowly. He was familiar with the chauffeur, having seen him in the garage when he’d gone to pick up cars, but other than an exchange of pleasantries here and there had never actually spoken to him before.

Mack seemed to realize that James wasn’t exactly familiar with him, too. He changed his position in the seat again and leaned forward. “Yes, your Majesty.”

“You realize that forensics experts have already been over it.”

“I do, your Majesty, but-”

“But?”

“But I’m good with machines. They said that it was some sort of valve, and it didn’t sit right with me. One of my old professors consults with the FBI, so I asked if I could take a look.” He looked to Sam for help, but Sam didn’t budge. He was there to observe and protect James, not to help a man who just admitted to receiving leaked files. “I’m good with understanding how things work,” Mack said at last. “And what happened to that plane wasn’t caused by a faulty valve; the plane lost all power at once. The logistics don’t work out any other way. Even my old professor noticed. But my old professor isn’t as familiar with Stark’s stuff as I am.”

James frowned at him. “Stark’s stuff?”

Mack nodded. “Less than a year ago, the Starks tested some explosives. Since I like to understand how things work, I like to go to the tests when I can. Their STRK-STNR line... They don’t explode when they hit the target; they hit the target with an EMP and immobilize it. It was meant to stop the tanks that resisted our explosives, but if someone used it on a plane, the plane would lose power and wouldn’t be able to turn it on again in time.”

James frowned. “And you think you could tell-”

“Yes, sir. Your Majesty. It was Stark tech.”

James leaned back and considered. Tony and his parents were dead. If they had been betraying his family, it had come to naught. If it were someone else... There were harsh laws for people who helped the country’s enemies. If someone were stupid enough to risk it...

There was also the matter of how Stark tech was now being used against his people. He nodded to Mack. “Thank you. Tell Coulson who that professor friend of yours is. If someone finds out he leaked those files to us, he could be in danger.”

Once Mack was gone, James turned to Sam. “We’ll have to talk to Pepper Potts. If there’s a traitor at Stark Industries, she’s the one who would know.”

*

Agent May was completely still in her seat behind a large oak desk; Skye sat in the significantly smaller chair on the other side. She looked around the office curiously and wished Trip were here. She could ask him questions about what May was like or joke with him about the lack of personal effects in the office. Joking with him had always made her feel better, and right now, she wouldn’t mind feeling better. But Trip was gone, and all she had was the laptop resting in her lap. She ran her finger along the edge as she fought the urge to open it.

“You’ve got a nice office,” she offered. She bit her lip before she could point out that it would be nicer if there was anything in the bookcase other than notebooks and a dusty dictionary. 

May’s nostrils flared. It was the first time anything in her face had so much as twitched. She leaned forward. “Tell me why King James sent you.”

Skye frowned. Hadn’t May already been briefed by Na- Oh. A test. She nodded. “Sure.” She opened her laptop and was comforted as it sprang to life beneath her fingers. She toggled the screens. “So what we have now is an easily-hackable network, partly because all the people we don’t necessarily trust can access the network. So I’m just... here to create a new network on this side of the pond and make sure it’s working. I’ve already set it up on the King’s side. It won’t take more than a couple days. I only have to set it up so that each of you, and only you, can access it from any computer or smartphone and no one else will know any better, and then I have to come up with a way to make sure it’ll work in case your wifi goes down. You know, no big.” She grinned, though her grin faded when she saw May’s flat expression.

“Natasha said you’re working with King James so you wouldn’t have to go to jail.”

“Uh... yeah. Seemed like a better gig. I mean, I didn’t think it might get me killed at the time. The more you know, right?”

May raised an eyebrow, and Skye nearly melted in relief at seeing some sort of expression on the woman’s face. Of course, she didn’t know if it was a _good_ expression.

“So, you know. If he dies, I’m probably either dying, too, or going to jail. So I have to keep him alive. Hugely invested in keeping him alive. Long live the King. Long, long live the King.”

May closed her eyes, and Skye wished she knew what the woman was thinking. At length, May looked at her again. “Are you familiar with Leo Fitz and Jemma Simmons?”

“They worked on James’ arm. We’ve seen each other but haven’t really talked.”

“Talk to them now,” May directed her. “They’ll help with the wifi problem. See me this time tomorrow and give me an update.” She pulled a file closer and started going through it. After several seconds, she said, “They aren’t in this office, if you think you can talk to them here.”

“Right.” Skye stood hastily and backed out of the room. May, she decided, was scary. Way scarier than Hill. Which made May scarier than scary.

*

Despite how tired she was, Pepper sat before James cool and collected. It wasn’t the first time she’d sat with royalty; she doubted it would be the last. Tony was gone, but Stane didn’t seem inclined to let her go. He’d actually mentioned that perhaps Pepper could be the personal assistant to his latest hire, Aldrich Killian. 

Job-wise, she was fine. Even if things didn’t work out with Killian and she _was_ let go, she’d be fine. Her PA skills made her valuable. But after all these years, Stark Industries had become like home to her. Maybe, just maybe, Killian wouldn’t make her do anything and everything he needed, including occasionally taking out the trash.

God, she missed Tony. She doubted her new boss would think his social security number was five.

As the silence stretched, her thoughts turned from Tony to the current situation. The king’s bodyguard watched her closely, and though the king didn’t study her with the same intensity, she could see that when he glanced at her, his eyes were sharp.

She tilted her head and frowned at him. She hadn’t had much to do with James, neither as prince nor as king, and didn’t have as good a read on him as she had his father.

Once her attention was focused on him again, he nodded. “Thank you for coming so quickly.”

“I didn’t get the impression that dawdling would be taken kindly.”

James folded his arms on the desk. “I’ll be direct. Technology developed by Stark was used to bring down my parents’ plane. As I had thought the Starks, and thus Stark Industries, were loyal to my parents, I was hoping you could shed some light on how their tech was used to kill them.”

Pepper stared at him as the words slowly sank in. Try as she might, though, she couldn’t make sense of it. She understood the words, but the concept behind them evaded her. “I’m sorry. What?”

“There’s evidence that Stark technology killed my parents. I want you to tell me how that came to be.”

She stared at him, her mind whirring. She knew Tony couldn’t have done it; he didn’t like dealing with people enough, especially when it was to discuss business. As for Howard, he’d obviously had a head for business, but he’d been loyal to the extreme. Everyone figured he’d paid to keep Tony out of the draft, but other than that, Howard had been loyal and focused on weaponry that would win the War, not kill off his monarchs and friends.

“That can’t be possible.”

“And yet,” he murmured. “It happened.”

Pepper frowned at him. If Tony hadn’t done it, and Howard hadn’t done it, but it had in fact been done... Then it must be someone else at Stark Industries who had access to the designs. “I’ll look into it,” she said solemnly.

He nodded. “We would appreciate it.” He frowned and leaned back in his seat with a sigh. “I know we haven’t really talked before, but I would be remiss if I didn’t warn you that it might be dangerous. I doubt you played a part in this, or even that you were aware of it. But you have the best access to Stark Industries that won’t involve my revealing my suspicions, and you’re our best option of gathering evidence about it before the evidence is destroyed. If it was Howard or Tony, I understand that my hands are tied. If it was someone else, though, I need to know. And quietly. Too many people have died as of late to lose anyone else.” He looked at her with steady brown eyes. “If you think you can’t handle it, I’ll find another way. But if you can...”

“I said I would look into it.” This time, Pepper’s voice was firm. “I’m- I _was_ Tony Stark’s personal assistant. If he’d known- He might be gone, but that’s no excuse. I’ll get to the bottom of it. You have my word.”

He nodded and looked to his bodyguard. “Sam might be able to offer some advice on how to proceed.” 

Sam wrinkled his nose. “Some, but it’s Stark tech. That means using Skye’s toys.”

*

Sharon had practiced for this day over the course of months now. If she couldn’t practice in the actual church, then she had rehearsed everything in her mind. In her bedroom, too, sometimes with Natasha, sometimes without. And now here she was, riding slowly along the street with quiet crowds on either side - never a good sign - in a dress that she could barely move in and that the papers would lambast her for wearing, despite her press release that all the cloth and jewels had come from other pieces and that the dress was the least expensive coronation dress in at least two centuries.

Sharon had thought she’d loathed the press before, when they’d only treated her as some shameful, party-girl slut. It turned out she hated them far more when they said she was unfit to rule because she was a weak-willed woman, nitpicked every political decision she made and then judged her hair and makeup for extra measure.

The crowd was disturbingly quiet. The kingdom had superstitions about quiet crowds at coronations. The quieter a crowd was, the shorter the monarch’s reign. And this crowd was damn near silent. The ravens might as well have fled the Tower. Not that she believed such drivel; no one seemed to notice that quiet crowds at coronations tended to happen in times of political upheaval. On second thought, that still didn’t bode well. During times of political upheaval, monarchs tended to lose their heads.

She couldn’t wolf whistle someone and make a lewd joke, not if she was trying to convince people she was fit to rule. Jokes were likely out of the question, period. People could take a joke until they didn’t like her, and then suddenly everything she said was offensive for one reason or another. 

What would Peggy do?

“Stop the carriage.”

She turned in the carriage and offered Natasha an apologetic look; Natasha responded with one of alarm, but Sharon opted to ignore it as she climbed out of the carriage and made her way to the side of the road and straight to a young girl wearing a paper crown. “I saw your crown and just had to get a better look,” Sharon said with a soft smile. “And yes. My suspicions are confirmed. It _does_ look better than mine. I’ll bet it’s great for everyday wear, too.” The girl offered a tremulous smile and dropped into an awkward curtsy. Sharon’s smile widened. “Thank you. And thank you for coming today. Please send word to my people about where I can get a crown like that.” She gave the girl’s father a brief smile and continued down the line.

She eventually fell into a pattern. Compliment several people and thank as many as possible for coming, then cross to the other side of the street and repeat. Over and over again, she shook hands, tried to make appropriate but amusing comments, smiled until her face hurt, and wished Peggy or Antoine could have ruled instead. 

By the time she got to the church, she was over an hour late, and her feet hurt so much she suspected her shoes were full of blood, and the crowd was finally making some noise. Surprisingly, it seemed mostly positive, and she had to smile at the shouts of “God save the Queen.” If only they knew.

“Not dead yet,” she whispered to Natasha as they went inside.

“Pull another stunt like that, I might do it myself,” Natasha hissed back.

Sharon waited a beat. She’d thought about this ceremony ever since her mother had explained she would have no siblings. She knew the timing of every part of this hours-long ordeal. She couldn’t beat Natasha at much, but she _could_ get the last word in. “You know you love me.”

Right on cue, the doors opened as the children’s choir’s song rose. She winked at Natasha, though she wrinkled her nose when she heard an unmistakable whisper of, “We are never doing this again.” So Natasha had gotten the last word in this round after all. They’d discuss that later, to be sure.

In the meantime, she had a five-hour ceremony in front of her, full of lines that often varied by a single word and minute gestures to remember and a distracting audience to ignore.

*

“Look, I’ve seen the logs of the passengers. Her name wasn’t on it,” Jane insisted. “Yes, she most certainly _was_ on that plane. She called me right before she got on and hasn’t called me since!” She paced as she listened to what were evidently meaningless platitudes. Thor wasn’t sure what the exact phrase was that made her eyes flash, but as soon as she got out the words, “No, _you_ listen to _me,_ you-” he plucked the phone from her hand.

“Good afternoon,” he said pleasantly. Jane crossed her arms and tapped her foot, but she was far more upset with their treatment of her than she was with him. He suspected that they both knew a change in tactics might be wise. “I am Thor, Prince of Asgard. To whom do I have the honor of speaking? Ah. Stacy. Marvellous. I hope you are well? Excellent. My friend, Dr. Jane Foster, and I are searching for a friend of hers who was aboard one of your planes. A Dr. Betty Ross. Have you any record of her?” He listened, then nodded. “Are you certain? It’s spelled R, O-” He frowned at the notes Jane had kept while talking with the airline. He could barely tell the letters apart. “S. S.”

His brow creased as Stacy hurried to assure him that she knew how the name was spelled, and it didn’t match anyone on the flight manifest. Would he like to speak with her supervisor to confirm? “No, I thank you. I know the king of this country. I think he may have more answers than your supervisor. My thanks to you, Stacy.” He hung up and waved a hand at Jane’s notepad. “You write like a doctor.”

“I _am_ a doctor,” she snapped, grabbing her notepad. “Wait. Doctors write like that in Asgard, too?”

He inclined his head. “No. Dr. Hansen and Lady Darcy told me some doctor jokes at James’ ball.”

Jane sighed. “Right. Of course people spent part of the night telling you doctor jokes. Look, I’m going to pack. We have to find Betty, and if we can’t find her, we have to reach the King. I can’t _believe_ they aren’t taking our calls. I don’t suppose your rainbow bridge can get us there?”

“It isn’t an easy button, Jane.”

She glowered at him as she pulled her boots on.

“I watched some prime time shows with Lady Darcy,” Thor admitted. “Other than James’ ball, there wasn’t much to do while you were busy elsewhere.”

Jane groaned and went to finish packing. “Fine. My car will have to do. No way am I trusting the airlines not to make me disappear right now.”

*

Sharon wiggled her toes in her shoes. They were nearly numb, but standing still as she received person after person wasn’t helping. She’d made it through the other nobles without difficulty, as there were so few of them, but there were far more delegates. 

At least some of them were ones she liked. “Shuri,” she said warmly as she saw the Wakandan princess. She leaned forward and kissed Shuri on each cheek. “It’s good to see you.”

Shuri smiled at her for the sake of the cameras, but her confusion was still evident. Neither Shuri nor Sharon tended to be effusive. “Not that I’m not happy to see you, your Majesty, but-”

Sharon shook her head. “Find me at the ball, and I’ll explain. Also, I really am happy to see you. Almost everyone here has asked me for a favor at some point or another, and I know you genuinely don’t care about anything so long as I keep trade open with Wakanda and don’t try to invade.”

A slow smile spread across Shuri’s face, but both of them knew it would be tactless to admit Sharon was right. It had been tactless enough of Sharon to say it in the first place. “I’ll find you at the ball.”

The line continued, and she greeted each person in turn, accepting well-wishes and congratulations. She frowned when the delegates from the States arrived; she didn’t recognize either of them, though the man was unnervingly familiar. Catching herself, she quickly pasted on a smile. 

“Sharon, hi,” the man said. Her smile wavered. He looked and sounded so much like Steve...

“I knew your cousin,” the woman said quickly. All of Sharon’s attention immediately went to her. “Antoine. We became friends when he was in the States. And I am so, so sorry.”

Sharon blinked quickly, her eyes turning wet. “We all are. He’ll be very much missed.”

“I know. I’ve been missing him since- like, thinking of things to tell him, and then he isn’t there, you know?”

Sharon swallowed and nodded. “As he was so fond of saying, he was a ray of sunshine.” The dead bastard. He was supposed to outlive her, damn it. 

The woman smiled widely even though her eyes were wet, too. “And he was such a dork. Show him old weaponry, and-”

“Skye,” May said from behind Sharon. “You can talk about this some other time.”

Sharon looked at Skye apologetically. “We’ll talk later,” she promised. “I just have to greet a bunch of people first and maybe get some tissues.”

Skye nodded and hurriedly moved forward.

Sharon gave the man behind her a polite nod, then paused. “St- Steve?”

He grinned at her, faintly embarrassed.

She stared at him. “Natasha told me you went through some sort of experiment and grew some, but- You-”

His grin widened. “Not often I see you speechless.” He shrugged. “Not without a soccer ball, anyway.”

“Football,” Sharon corrected automatically.

“Never calling it that,” Steve told her. “And now I’m moving on. So pay attention to the other guests and let me have the last word this time.”

“Not a chance. I’m going to see if your dancing has improved,” she called after him.

*

“I do so love a long game,” a voice drawled from the corner. Pierce jumped, a gun already in his hand. Contrary to being alarmed, the man there merely smiled winsomely and waved a hand. “I come as a friend.”

Pierce studied the man before slowly putting the gun away. The room was dark enough that he didn’t recognize the man right away, but he could guess that the man was Asgardian from the multi-layered, green clothes alone. As if the golden, horned helmet weren’t enough of a clue. Right. He’d seen the reports from New Mexico. Loki. “A man can always use more friends.”

The man’s smile widened. “I am Loki, Prince of Asgard.”

Pierce forced himself to seem more relaxed. “Thor’s brother. It’s an honor to meet you, your Highness.” He bowed from the waist, and though Loki didn’t seem upset by the bow, his brother’s name had certainly caused his features to twist in distaste. Pierce had every intention of using that later on, if needed. “Though I am merely a mortal, I will be happy to assist you in whatever way I can.”

Loki’s smile turned as thin as a snake’s. “I thank you, but it is I who am here to offer assistance to you. I have watched the actions of Midgardians from above, and I have come to admire your skill in... how shall we say it? Manipulating current events. As such I felt the need to warn you. Your enemies in Europe have recently acquired a weapon. If you do not hurry, they may take over all the countries across your ocean and use their combined might to lay waste to this continent before you have time to bring your plans to fruition.”

Pierce locked his jaw. Loki knew too much for his tastes. Nonetheless, he forced himself to bow again. “I am honored by your advice and only too pleased to make use of it.” He paused. “Forgive my impertinence, but if I might impose on your kindness... While I can move my plans forward with ease, if our enemies have such great weapons, how can we hope to overcome them?”

Loki didn’t respond right away as he lovingly ran his fingers over the inlay of his staff. “I shall see what I can do to support you.”

“And,” Pierce said cautiously, “may I ask what price you will ask for this support? Only so that I may have it ready when you ask it of me.”

Loki’s smile returned. “I ask no price. I only wish to help a player in the game. It is easy to respect a gamemaster such as yourself.”

Pierce bowed again. When he straightened, Loki was gone, and Pierce had a sinking feeling in his gut. He didn’t trust Loki for a second; Pierce was well-versed in dealing with snakes. But if Loki wasn’t lying about the Skull’s weapon, then Pierce would be a fool to overlook Loki’s warning.

*

“Long time, Duchess.”

Peggy looked up from her seat at the table and beamed as she recognized the weathered soldier. She waved Nick away as he started toward them. Old friends she had fought beside were no threat to her. “Jim!” Had Sharon mentioned he’d be here? She couldn’t remember. “It’s so good to see you! Please, have a seat. How are your grandchildren?”

Jim Morita, gray-haired and bent with age, lowered himself carefully into the seat across from her. “They’re fine. Tucker me out these days, but they’re fine. I imagine Sharon’s got to tucker you out, too.”

Peggy chuckled. “The parties certainly seem to last longer now than they did in my youth.”

“This, coming from the woman who partied with that German troop until five in the morning to make sure they were too exhausted to fight us the next day? I don’t believe it.” He grinned.

“You could have joined in, if you hadn’t insisted on keeping to your bedtime.”

Jim made a face. “I needed my beauty sleep.”

“Still do,” another voice interjected. A lanky woman draped in costume jewelry sat heavily beside Peggy without waiting for an invitation. “You’re looking old! If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were... Jim Morita!”

“Angie Cartinelli,” Morita said slowly, reverently. Angie might have teased him about his age, but judging by his tone, he obviously had no intention of doing anything that might offend her. The boys always had loved Angie. “Here setting the West End on fire?”

“Setting it on something, all right. There are too many grandmothers to go around and not enough grandmother roles. How’re you doing, English?”

“Better now,” Peggy said, amused. Her eyes danced as she saw Monty and Jacques make their way over. “Much better.”

*

The ball lasted as long as the coronation ceremony had. And Steve, it turned out, had not improved as a dancer.

Sharon limped along the corridor with Ward, most of the other guests having retired for the night. Elizabeth I had always insisted on being the last one to leave the party, but Sharon hadn’t been up to the task. She’d given up around two in the morning and had taken off her shoes as soon as she’d gotten out of sight. After walking and standing in them for so long, her feet _hurt._

“I really don’t mind helping, your Majesty,” Ward offered.

Sharon shook her head. “I chose the shoes. Now I get to suffer the consequences.” She groaned. “Should have just worn trainers. Who would have known the difference?”

Ward stumbled toward her, and she barely managed to catch him. “Hate to break it to you, Ward, but you’re really not my t-” She stared at the palace guard behind Ward, wondering where he’d come from. It took her a moment to realize that Ward was dead weight, and then she felt the cloth over her mouth, and it was too late to do much thinking at all.

*

Peggy dropped her necklace on her vanity, the sound echoing in the empty room. She had no personal maid like Sharon did. Ever since she had enlisted in the War - more like run away to join the Army - she’d taken care of herself, fond of the independence it gave her. And it was a good thing, too, being able to dress and undress herself on her own, she thought with dark humor. It might not be long before she’d need assistance to do such activities as if she were a child again. She dreaded the thought of depending upon others for every day tasks, becoming a hollowed-out shell of a woman who would eventually forget that her brother was dead. 

The timing was certainly bad. Sharon would face even more challenges as Queen than she had as Crown Princess, and Peggy didn’t want to become yet another weight on Sharon’s shoulders. She’d hoped to support Sharon as she had Harrison.

She heard a sound at the door and glanced upward, grasping her cane. Had her dementia progressed to the point that this was some new tradition she’d forgotten? Did she have a maid now after all that she couldn’t remember? Had she already progressed to the point that someone was coming to help her undress and she should have expected it? It was an aspect of the disease she hadn’t anticipated and didn’t know yet how to prepare for, the loss of time, the way things were suddenly different and she was forced to adjust.

The figure aimed a gun at her, and Peggy smiled. “You have no idea what a relief that is.” She spun, and before she was even fully turned, her sword was drawn and slicing the man’s forearm. “Did you know I fought in the War when I was younger?” The man barely lasted two more hits before he fell to the floor. Seconds later, foam dripped from his mouth. Peggy recognized the poison; it had been around in her day as well.

“Our enemies were tougher back then.” She stepped around him and moved to the door, her bloodied sword held before her. No one waited for her outside. The idiot must have figured that she would be too weak and scared to defend herself. Some helpless old woman.

As accustomed as she was to being underestimated, as much as she had learned to turn it to her advantage, it still grated on her nerves. She went back to her room and picked up the phone. “Nick, it’s Peggy. I’ve just killed an attacker in my room. Would you bring some extra artillery in case not all the security that arrives to remove him aren’t exactly loyal? Thank you.”

She sat at her vanity as she waited, the sword cleaned and back in its cane. So they had decided to try and remove her at last. She supposed she ought to be flattered. At least Sharon and Antoine were safe.

Nick arrived, his eye widening faintly when he saw the body on the ground. “There’s more to you than you’ve told me, Duchess.”

“There’s more to me than I tell anyone, Nick.” Now that she had backup, she picked up the phone to call security. “If anyone asks, you killed him.”

As much as she detested the thought, it wouldn’t hurt to be underestimated again in the future.

*

Natasha and May walked down the hall in companionable silence. The past few days had been long for both of them, and neither of them had gotten much sleep in the past forty-eight hours, even though each had told the other to sleep several times. Now that the coronation was over, the suffering would continue for only one of them; Sharon needed someone to keep watch while she slept.

“I’ll take first shift,” Natasha offered.

May didn’t move, but she still managed to seem as if she grunted. “You’ve been with her all day, and her unscheduled walk earlier couldn’t have been easy. Take a break.”

“She’s easier to handle when she’s asleep.”

“Why do you think I’m trying to take first shift?” May asked. “She’s not going to stay up for long, and then all I have to do is work out what to do with Skye’s services.”

“She’ll still be awake at first, and you-” They rounded a corner, and Natasha broke into a run when she saw Ward lying on the floor. Breathing? Yes. “He’s alive.”

May was already coming out of Sharon’s apartments. “And the Queen is missing.”

*

“King James.” Sam didn’t bother with pleasantries as he strode into James’ private meeting with some of the business consulates. “A word?”

Sam wouldn’t interrupt lightly, and James nodded. “Gentlemen. I’ll be back in a moment.” He followed Sam into the hall. “Did we find something?”

“Worse. We lost something. Steve just called to say that Sharon’s gone missing. They’re keeping it under wraps for now, but they won’t be able to keep it quiet for long. They found her bodyguard knocked out in the hallway, and the Duchess was attacked.”

“They’re making their move,” he said thoughtfully.

“Yes, they are.” Sam’s tone was impatient. It seemed pretty damn obvious to him that their enemies had been making far too many moves, and now they were striking the final blows. “And I’d say this is a pretty good time to surround yourself with security and play some cards yourself.”

James stuck his head back into the room. “I’m sorry, gentlemen, but an urgent matter has arisen. Call my office to reschedule.” Closing the door again, he nodded to Sam. “Let’s go. My office. We’ll have the others meet us there.”

Sam turned on his comm and told Coulson and Hill to meet them at the room. Whatever they said in response made him curse. “Betty’s plane went down.”

James’ expression darkened. He’d known Antoine and Sharon were targets, and he knew that he himself was a target, but that they had gone after Betty as well... He couldn’t hire bodyguards for all his friends. Their enemies must have known that.

Which meant they knew whom he trusted. Could one of them have leaked it? One of the people he trusted? Both Antoine and Betty in so short a time...

“Do they know if it was an accident?”

“Sounds like they got attacked by some sort of monster? The airline’s trying to keep it quiet and has given everyone else free flights wherever they want to go, but some jolly green monster kidnapped Betty. The airline doesn’t know what’s going on, and no one else seems to know, either. Coulson’s trying to figure it all out.” He scowled. “Everybody trying to keep everything quiet. No wonder government’s so slow.”

James looked at him wryly and let Sam open his office door. Sam stopped short and held out an arm to keep James in the hall. 

“I’m harmless, I assure you,” Pierce said. He certainly appeared harmless. Along with the three-piece suit and the Italian loafers, he wore a gentle sense of joviality. 

And what a coincidence, that James had openings in his inner circle so soon after Pierce had presented options. 

“May I help you, Pierce?”

“I was hoping to talk with you about a business proposition.”

James glanced at Sam and strode to his desk. He didn’t bother looking at Pierce, hoping the man took the hint as to how welcome he was. “I’m busy at the moment. Some other time, perhaps.”

“Ah, yes. The kidnapped Queen. Messy business.”

Sam closed the door and looked sharply at Pierce. “How’d you know about that?”

“I worked for your parents for decades. I know people in every palace in the world.” Pierce turned back to James, and James found himself looking at Pierce in response despite himself. He’d seen people masking their motives with smiles like Pierce’s before.

James set his hands on the desk. “I’d hate to think you were being glib about my friend and fellow monarch being in danger, Pierce.”

Pierce shook his head. “I’m far more concerned about your safety, your Majesty.”

“Oh?” James wanted to look at Sam to see if his friend had any idea what was going on, but he didn’t dare look away from Pierce.

And was the man seriously checking his manicure? “As you know, I advised your father since before he was King. Unfortunately, he went against my advice when he decided to visit the Front, but I was hoping you would be wise enough to take some advice from me.”

“I’d be happy to listen, of course. Particularly if you know anything that might help Sharon.”

Pierce sighed and leaned back in his chair. “I’m just an old man who hears gossip here and there. If I hear anything, I’ll certainly pass it along as soon as I can. We are nothing without our rulers, are we not?”

James didn’t move. “And what was your advice?”

“Consider the advisers I recommended. I’m sure some would be willing to bodyguard you, and you’re a bit thin on those at the moment.” Pierce smiled at Sam, though if he saw the pulsing vein in Sam’s jaw, he gave no sign.

“I’ll keep it in mind. Thank you, Pierce.”

Pierce stood again and bowed. As soon as he closed the door, James heaved a sigh and turned to Sam, but he found Sam had a finger to his lips. Sam knelt on the floor and after searching underneath the desk and the chair, came out with two bugs. 

James sighed again, but this time, it wasn’t relief at being alone with friends. “He has a point about me needing more security. I’ll have to take another look at those files. You don’t really think the people after Sharon would be after me, too, do you?”

Sam, to his credit, not only caught on, but replaced the bugs. The vein in his jaw showed how thrilled he was at the prospect, and James knew there would be a talk later. “Doubt it. But it wouldn’t hurt.”

James’ eyes bore a hole into the door. Antoine was dead. Betty might be dead. Sharon was missing. Pierce knew far more than he was letting on.

And James was going to pin him to the wall.

*

Pepper loved her heels. They sounded powerful and looked deadly and made her feel like both. Right now, she could use as much of both as she could get. Even though she had been managing Tony’s... everything for years and would make a more than adequate CEO one day, it didn’t hurt to have a little more confidence.

She got off the elevator and clacked purposefully toward Tony’s office, straight past Obadiah Stane’s office. She stopped when she was out of sight, took a deep breath, then turned and strode back. She stared at the blonde behind the secretary’s desk. “Lorraine, aren’t you supposed to be in the Fall Planning Meeting right now? Stane’s going to need those notes when he gets back.”

Lorraine blinked at her, then at her computer. She shot out of her seat. “Fall Planning Meeting. That was today?”

Pepper nodded as if it were obvious. “Conference Room D. They started over ten minutes ago.” Or would start a week from now in Conference Room A, but that conference room was far closer and wouldn’t buy Pepper the time she suspected she would need. “If you hurry-”

“Already gone,” Lorraine said quickly, her own heels striking the tiled floor as she scrambled for the elevator.

Pepper waited until the doors closed before quickly slipping into Lorraine’s area, where the carpet was so plush no one could hear her. She didn’t waste time thanking her lucky stars for Howard’s foresight in design - or whoever had designed the building’s interior - and slipped into Stane’s office. He tended to get lunch with various bigwigs from eleven in the morning to sometimes two in the afternoon. But with the way things had been going lately, she suspected he’d take a forty-five minute lunch and walk in on her while she snuck around his office. 

She headed straight to the computer and plugged in the thumb drive Sam had given her. The king’s computer tech had said to just plug it in and let it do its thing. If Stane had incriminating evidence on his computer, it would go to the king as soon as she got out of here.

She watched the window pop up as the USB fob reported its progress. Past the password protections, scanning files, downloading... Ten minutes. Good God. How much did Stane have on his computer?

She bit her lip. How much classified information was she about to give away to the king before she even knew what was on it? Was this a ruse to get military designs that Stark Industries wasn’t ready or didn’t want to release, or to leverage the designs to get the weapons at a cheaper price?

She eased herself into Stane’s chair. Would the king use his own parents’ deaths in order to gain the upper hand? As far as she knew, he’d honored the contracts set forth by Howard Stark and hadn’t yet made demands for more. But the truth was, she didn’t know what sort of man the king was. He’d been a faintly cocky but overall respectable prince, like an extremely scaled-back, more considerate, sober version of Tony in some ways. But everyone knew the War had changed him. Not just physically, either. She’d heard rumors that he was paranoid now, allowing very few people close to him. There was word that he was having trouble sleeping. And where he’d once been sociable, he’d since seemed to shy away from the cameras and had almost stopped speaking to the media altogether. Not that anyone could really blame him for that after his last press conference.

She watched the progress bar slowly fill. The king had never said what evidence he had... And his argument had made secrecy tantamount. Maybe he really was paranoid, but perhaps he was right to be. If Stark tech had truly been used to kill his parents... If...

If she gave him the thumb drive, she could save the kingdom but might doom Stark Industries and everything the Howard and Tony had left behind. If she kept it, she might save Stark Industries at the risk of harming the kingdom. He hadn’t given her enough information to determine which decision was the right one. 

She was really starting to hate the guy.

She looked at the computer fob. If she really wanted to be certain she was making the right decision, she’d have to investigate on her own. 

Jesus. Who did she think she was, Nancy Drew?

No. She wasn’t Nancy Drew. She was Pepper Potts. She was the sort of woman who would build a detective agency from the ground up and _hire_ Nancy Drew. Hire Veronica Mars, too, while she was at it. She was going to do this not only because it had to be done, but because it was the right thing to do, and she’d never stop blaming herself for doing anything less.

Resolved, she grabbed the fob as soon as it was done copying and tucked it into her notebook. Standing, she froze as she heard Stane talking on his phone in the outer office. She hastily made sure everything on his desk was the same as it had been before and fixed the chair as it had been as well.

By the time Stane pushed his way in, she was sitting in one of the chairs in front of his desk. She turned and smiled as winsomely as she could. He lowered the phone and stared at her for a couple seconds too long.

“Quarterly reports,” Pepper explained quickly. “I was going to ask Lorraine, but she was busy. I need to know how you’d like me to handle them in the wake of Tony’s- Now that Tony’s gone.”

“Of course.” He raised the phone to his ear again. “I’ll call you back.”

Pepper kept her smile sedate. She kept her tone level as they talked, pretending not to notice how he went straight to his computer or how he looked at her for longer stretches than usual. At length, he let her go, and she forced herself to keep a steady pace. The clacking of her heels sounded normal enough to her, and Stane didn’t chase after her.

This, Pepper decided, was as good a time as any to take lunch.

*

Sharon couldn’t remember a time when she’d been more uncomfortable. Why was her bed so lumpy? And her room was cold. Why the hell was it so cold? Beth lit a fire on the rare occasions the generators failed. But there was no heat or familiar crackling sound, and her room felt damp. She didn’t want to get Princess and the Pea, but she could smell the damp. She’d have to talk to Natasha about the possibility of mold.

She reached for her blankets, only for her fingers to find the sharp-edged jewels on her gown instead. She forced her eyes open. What-

Oh. Right. Ward. The palace guard. She’d been kidnapped. Damn it.

At least she wasn’t dead.

She took a deep breath to keep a level head like Natasha and May had drilled into her, then looked around without turning her head. The only thing she could see was a dimly-lit low stone ceiling. Well. That told her nothing.

Slowly, trying not to draw the attention of anyone who might be around, she turned her head. She couldn’t see any windows. A stone room, smaller than a prison cell. And speaking of a prison cell, was that a barred door?

She sprang up and hurried across the cell, grasping the door and pushing, pulling, then pushing again. Thick iron bars ran horizontally and vertically, leaving only one- or two- inch gaps. No way she was slipping through, even if she managed to pull some bars loose. She bent to study the lock. Most of Natasha and May’s training had been on preventing a kidnapping entirely - something she’d have to apologize for once she got out of this. _If_ she got out of this. Unfortunately, they hadn’t taught her much about lockpicking. But how hard could it be?

It would be easier if it were brighter, but the single torch down the hall did little to give her light.

She thought she heard something and hastily backed away from the door. She thought for a moment, then climbed back onto the small cot and tried to remember her position when she’d woken up. If they thought she was still unconscious, maybe they’d leave her alone again and give her more time to work out some sort of escape.

“You know,” a familiar voice drawled. “That dress makes a lot of noise in an echoey place like this.”

Sharon ran for the cell door. “Rumlow! Good timing.” He grinned at her, and she grinned back. Seconds ticked by, and she waved her hand at the door. “It’s locked. So if you’ve got the key, I’d love to get out of here.”

He shook his head. “I’d love to, your Majesty, but it would be pretty stupid of me, since I’m the one who put you in there in the first place.”

She blinked at him, and then her eyes widened in understanding. She shook her head. “We vetted you.”

He shrugged. “This has been in the works for decades, sweetheart.” Sharon pursed her lips. She allowed to be people to be lax in how they addressed her, but terms of endearment from kidnappers was pushing it. “You thought somebody like me would screw up an interview and risk betraying everything we worked for?”

The sinking feeling in her stomach was getting worse. “We?”

“My associates and I.” This time, the voice was unfamiliar. It was male, the accent German, but she had no more clue to the speaker until he stepped in sight. A tale, pale man with dark hair receding at the temples. He stood up straight, his shoulders back and head held high. “We are going to take this world back from your kind.”

“My kind,” Sharon echoed. And she’d thought “sweetheart” had been offensive.

He didn’t bother showing he’d heard her. “And you will help us, or your beloved aunt will die. Your cousin is already dead. Would you like to be responsible for the death of your last living relative who is suitable to rule?”

Sharon glared at him. Peggy, in trouble. Not good. But she also knew what to do about it, not least because Peggy had told her firmly what to do if people tried to use her against Sharon. Every member of her family had been trained in how to handle situations where the security of the country was concerned. “Yes.”

The man stopped and appraised her anew. “I assume you did not hear me. We will kill Duchess Margaret, of the House of Carter, unless you cooperate.”

“Oh, I heard. And I understand. And do it. Go ahead. Remove what little leverage you have over me. It’s not like you have any other relatives to fall back on.” Like hell was she going to mention Rikki and give them another potential victim. “You killed Antoine. I’m guessing you killed my parents. After all that, what’s an aunt?” Her favorite aunt, the one who had guided her, the person she loved even more than she loved her parents. The one who might die now because this man wanted to use her against Sharon in a bid to seize the country.

Please let her poker face be good enough for this. 

“Very well,” the man said at last. “An admirable coldness. If the Russian family had had that, they might have lasted longer than they did.” She felt a chill down her spine. She remembered a conversation months ago... The Tsar had handed over power, and he and his entire family had been murdered after. Was this what had happened to the Tsar? Had he only given in out of fear for his family? Sharon had never appreciated how he must have felt at the time, but she certaintly had a better idea now.

The man drew closer to the bars. “Let me tell you what will happen. You will agree to hand over power, peacefully. In so doing, you will avoid a hostile takeover, in which we will kill those loyal to you and thousands, if not millions more. We are in more than just the palace, your Majesty. We have infiltrated every part of your kingdom. And we will have a country free of tyranny, free of those who would rule any other person. And until you agree, until you show these citizens that you admit we are superior, you will go hungry, you will go thirsty, you will go blind, and the only relief will be when we visit once a day with a trinket of your aunt’s.”

Sharon swallowed. She felt her bravado slipping. Had she really just condemned Peggy to death? Torture? Was anything he said true? More importantly, did anyone know where she was? How long could she last here, waiting for someone to save her?

But she knew one thing. They wanted her participation in the destruction of everything her family had built, of the very government, of her country, of the people she had sworn to protect. 

“Fuck you.” Her voice was soft, but at least that meant they couldn’t hear how frightened she was.

Rumlow smirked, and Sharon’s bravado slipped again. It wasn’t a good sign that Rumlow was amused.

“Very well,” the man said. “Until next time, your Majesty.” He turned and walked away with an ironic bow, and Sharon grasped the bars and watched as he plucked the torch from its sconce. The two of them left, and all light disappeared with them.


	5. Rescued

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christine gets a job offer. Pepper realizes she may be out of a job. Sharon is given an ultimatum. May runs into some trouble on the case. Peggy is attacked. Natasha blows off some steam. Thor runs into problems with James' security. Tony has a good day at long last.

Christine sighed and flicked on the lamp beside her door. “Society pages,” she muttered darkly, trying to flip through her mail with one hand while she tried to situate her purse and shoes with the other. “Knock me down any further and I’ll be in advertising.”

“I don’t think you’d do well in advertising.”

Christine screamed and jumped back against the door, a coupon for Bed, Bath & Beyond raised in front of her face. After a moment, she realized she didn’t hear anything like an attack, and she also realized that she knew that voice. She peeked over the coupon and stared at the King standing at the end of the hall, his expression amused. One of his bodyguards, the one who’d lost his partner in the War, grinned at her from around the corner and gave her a little wave.

She dropped into a quick and clumsy curtsy, her knee knocking against the table leg. She winced and teetered, catching herself against the wall to keep herself from falling over. “Your Majesty!” 

“For Christ’s sake, Christine - I hope it’s all right if I call you Christine - I’m not wearing a crown right now. Get up.”

She stood, if shakily, and slowly moved nearer. Had the King broken into her apartment? Had the freaking King of the entire country just broken into her apartment? 

What a way to get back on the front page...

“What can I do for you, your Majesty?”

“James,” he said firmly. “I’d like to hire you.”

That got her to stop. She gaped at him. “What?”

“I need a press official, and a smart one. You’re willing to break into the palace to get answers.You caught on to the conspiracy before anyone else. I want you on my side.”

How did that gel with a front page story? She frowned in confusion. Was she getting a front page story out of this? “In exchange for...”

“Money?” King James glanced at his bodyguard, confused.

“It’s a job thing,” the bodyguard offered. “You do work for him, he pays you. Kind of like how all jobs work.”

Christine blinked. “So you broke into my apartment to offer me a job?”

Was it just her, or did King James look embarrassed? “I- yes. It’s a very dangerous job, though. People loyal to me are being killed. I didn’t want anyone to know I was here. If they find out about you, they may target you, too.”

“I got demoted to the society pages today. Death would be a mercy.” She frowned at them both. So she wasn’t getting front page after all. At least, not yet. But a job... interesting. “Beer?”

The bodyguard held up a finger. “I could use one.”

She nodded and pushed past the King as respectfully as she could. Within seconds, she had three beers on coasters in the living room. It occurred to her that what she had previously thought was a very clean apartment was really just a bunch of rooms with nice, second-hand furniture covered in old newspapers and internet print-outs, shoes she’d kicked off haphazardly and subsequently left lying around, and dirty dishes strewn about. And a bra hanging over a chair in the back corner that she hoped no one noticed. “Okay. First, I want to hear more about this conspiracy. Start talking.”

By the time they were done, her beer was warm. Some of the things they’d found, she’d already noticed. Some, she hadn’t. 

This could definitely get her killed.

She took a swig of warm beer, too distracted to focus on the disgusting taste of cheap, room-temperature beer. “You wanna see my murder wall?” They looked at each other, and without further ado, she led them to her bedroom. Like every other room in the house, every available surface was covered with newspapers, books, clothes she hadn’t bothered hanging up, and the occasional old cup of stale coffee mixed in. She opened her closet, tossed her clothes onto the bed, and stepped aside. “I only hid it on the off chance I was right.”

The pair of them looked inside, their gazes lingering on some faces longer than others. Most of them were easily recognizable, though she had to wonder if he even remembered what some of his parents’ old advisers looked like. She hadn’t found that he’d had much contact with them since he’d returned home.

The King nodded. “At this point, you have to accept.”

She smiled. “Oh, I do. So long as I can get an exclusive, I’ll accept anything you want.”

*

Betty still couldn’t get over it. Bruce Banner, her old classmate, was alive and... certainly changed. Capable of changing into a large, green, hulking... hulk thing. And when he changed back, he apparently ended up half-naked. It was a difficult thing not to notice about an ex-boyfriend. 

And she was thinking too much about the half-naked part and not on the driving the rental care part. “So the gamma radiation...”

“Did not turn me into anything good,” he repeated again. He’d told her about her experiment multiple times now. The expired food and stolen water they’d shared while he told her ranked as her favorite picnic ever. “I’m glad I experimented on myself, though. I don’t know what I would have done if I’d made someone else a monster.”

“A monster who just saved my life and the lives of everyone on that plane,” Betty said firmly. She checked the speedometer again. Even though the car was on cruise, they couldn’t risk going over the speed limit and drawing police attention. There was no way to tell if the police would be loyal to her or the people who had tried to kill her. For her part, she wouldn’t feel safe again until she was back at the White Palace. “Why didn’t you tell me what you were trying to do?”

He frowned. Now that he was himself again, he looked tired and haunted, stretched thin from stress and who knew what else. “At the time, I just didn’t know if it would work and didn’t want to get you involved. Not many professors supported the idea of gamma radiation as a cure-all for the human body. I guess I...” He trailed off, staring out the window at the flat horizon. “You know, it’s been so long that I really don’t remember?”

She watched him, her hand slowly reaching to rest upon his. He tensed but didn’t pull away, and she left it there. “I wouldn’t have thought you were crazy, Bruce.”

He shifted uncomfortably.

She let the silence stretch until he seemed to relax again. “Did you know I was on that plane?”

He shook his head. “I saw it falling and figured there would be passengers.”

“And you just decided to save everyone?” Betty grinned at him, and the grin only grew when she saw how embarrassed he was. He was still kind of cute, actually. “And actually, you’re not crazy at all. You never were. In case you’re worried about that. Have you ever heard of Dr. Erskine?”

“Uh... yeah. He used to write medical stuff, right? If he’s written something lately, I haven’t seen it.”

“That’s because his work was top secret. He created a super soldier.”

He stared at her. “A- A what?”

Her lips twisted into a wry grin. “I know. It sounds terrible, but it’s true. He used gamma radiation to help create a super soldier. Steve Rogers. He had a whole bunch of health problems, but Erskine’s treatment cured him and made him... well. A super soldier. I’ll introduce you to Steve when we get to the palace. Erskine isn’t alive anymore, so I have no idea if we can use his data to help you, but if anyone can figure it out, it would be you, right?”

Bruce was quiet for several miles. “You think there’s a cure?” He sounded so wistful that she wanted to hug him.

“I know there’s a cure,” she said firmly. “We just have to find it. I might know some people who can help. We just need to get back to the White Palace.” She glanced at him. “Sound good?”

He’d offered her several shy or hesitant smiles since he’d rescued her, but this smile was full-out brilliant. “Sounds great.”

*

Skye watched as Fitz and Simmons argued over the best way to identify possible kidnappers. They both agreed that data needed to be extrapolated, but did that mean tracking anyone who had been at the palace that night, or did it mean observing behaviors of anyone suspicious, even if they were only near the palace at the time, and tracking them instead?

She sipped her soda as she listened to the banter, her computer already searching for anything out of the ordinary and running facial recognition on CCTV to see where people in and around the palace had gone that night. She kept half an eye on the monitors in front of her in case something large enough to transport the queen could show up. She hadn’t talked to Sharon much, but anyone who appreciated Antoine as much as Skye did couldn’t be bad.

Fitz and Simmons paused - either to breathe or to dedice which seven-syllable word they’d use next - and Skye saw her opportunity.

“You two are really drift compatible.”

“Thank you!” Simmons waved to Fitz. “We argue a lot, I know, but we really do get along.”

Fitz crossed his arms. “And we’ve got too much to do to talk about kaiju right now. Simmons-”

“Actually...” Skye pointed to her computer. “I’m already running all of those algorithms.”

“This whole time we’ve been talking about it?” Fitz demanded.

Skye nodded. As he sulked, she grinned. “What? It was fun to watch.”

“Well,” Simmons said slowly, moving to sit beside Skye. “Since we’ve got nothing to do but surveil and chat... which was your favorite kaiju?”

Fitz pulled out the other chair. “Like it’s even a contest.”

Skye saw the set of Simmons jaw and realized that they disagreed about the best kaiju, too. “Can I at least get some popcorn first?” she murmured. Fitz and Simmons, already arguing, didn’t hear her.

*

Pepper only knew of one place where she could access the computer fob without raising red flags. 

Without Tony there, the mansion in the Washington suburbs was too quiet for her to feel at ease, though it was as clean as it ever was under JARVIS’ s supervision. Pepper couldn’t say she was surprised; JARVIS had been created to take care of everything as tidily as the real-life Jarvis, Tony’s childhood butler, had. Tony had even created an army of robots that he or JARVIS could control to do their bidding.

She wondered if he’d ever thought of her like a robot meant to do his bidding.

She slipped her key into the lock and froze so JARVIS could scan her for security purposes. She fought the urge to glance nervously behind her. She’d tried to make sure she hadn’t been followed, but she was new to spying and couldn’t be certain. Once she was in, she closed the door firmly behind her.

“Good afternoon, Ms Potts.”

“Afternoon, JARVIS,” she said, turning the lock. When she’d first started working for Tony, she’d felt stupid talking to a computer, but it had since become normal. Not only that, she’d come to learn that JARVIS seemed to have a personality all his own. The more people treated him as a human, the more human he acted and the better he treated them. Tony might have been a genius, but JARVIS was the real power in the house. “Could you lock everything down and let me know if someone tries to get in?”

“Of course, Ms Potts.” Without hesitation, lights started blinking on and off as JARVIS activated different functions. She left him to it and headed to Tony’s lab. “Are we expecting trouble?”

“Possibly,” she admitted. As fortified as the house itself was, Tony had added even more security to his inner sanctum. Only she, Tony, and Rhodey were allowed in. She pressed her hand to the scanner, and the door sprang open. She hurried to the table and booted up the computer as Felix whirred at her sadly from the corner.

“We saw the news,” JARVIS explained. “Dummy has done nothing but sulk in the corner of the garage since he heard.”

Pepper looked at Felix, and her heart ached. Why had Tony made them so humanlike? He’d treated them like pets, maybe even like family. He hadn’t even been as close to his father as he was to the robots. It was as if they didn’t even know they were machines. “Rhodey is looking for him,” she said firmly. “If anyone’s too stubborn to die in a plane crash, it’s Tony.”

“One way of putting it,” JARVIS said dryly. Felix, though, whistled and straightened. Robot or not, its spirits certainly seemed to lift easily. “May I assist you, Ms Potts?”

“Yes.” She logged in with her information and plugged in the thumb drive. “Copy everything on this drive, isolate any files concerning weapons deals with any national enemies.”

“Certainly, Ms Potts.” A window popped up on the touchscreen, and Pepper watched as JARVIS scrolled through file after file at lightning-fast speed. It was barely twenty seconds before he announced, “I have concluded my search and found 132 matches for illegal arms trades in the past year, 18 of those with enemies of the United States. Just different enemy groups, mind you. The specific number of deals with each group is rather higher. Moreover, I have found something else I believe you ought to see.” A video appeared on screen, and Pepper covered her mouth with her hands. Tony was on his knees, his hands behind his back. He was covered in dirt and blood, and she could see the stubble on his chin and the thin rivulets on his forehead left by sweat. But he was definitely alive. She’d said it herself- Tony Stark was too damn stubborn to die in a plane crash.

He was also surrounded by men with very large guns. But the important thing was that he was alive.

The lab filled with a translation of the man’s voice. Pepper barely heard it as she stared at Tony’s face. He looked groggy and pissed off, and she couldn’t move her eyes away from any miniscule movement. He was alive. This meant he was alive. Her eyes turned wet. Of _course_ he was alive. He really was too stubborn to die, even when his damn plane was crashing. Gravity couldn’t kill the great Tony Stark. Not that she had doubted it, she just- She was so glad he was alive. She reached out to touch his cheek, her finger hovering just over the screen.

The words slowly sank in. Pay them or else Tony- Who was to be paid?

Her head lifted. Why did she even bother asking when she already knew? The file had been on Stane’s computer, and he’d opted to hire someone else rather than save Tony. “JARVIS. I need to get to the White Palace. Immediately. Back up those files to the most secure drive we have.” She pulled out the thumb drive and glanced in the corner. “I’ll come back to visit,” she promised Felix and the other bots before she hurried out of the lab.

“Ms Potts. Surveillance shows that your vehicle is being watched. It might be best to take one of Mr. Stark’s vehicles.”

Pepper turned to the garage without hesitation. She pulled out her cell phone as she walked. Rhodey needed to know not to stop looking for Tony. She doubted he would stop even without the phone call, but knowing Tony was alive would help. He’d redouble his efforts. He’d find Tony. She drew to a stop when she saw which car JARVIS had started for her. “You’re kidding me.”

“Please, allow me to drive, Ms Potts.”

She glanced at the control console on the wall. Should she insist on a car that didn’t look as flat as a pancake and was so ridiculously expensive that Tony hadn’t even told her he’d bought it until she’d put together his tax returns and found the record of the transaction? If she’d had the time, she would. “JARVIS? Does Tony let you drive his cars?”

“Of course.” His tone was that of a child saying the other parent had most certainly given them permission to eat all the cookies.

Still, she knew how well JARVIS managed everything else. She dropped in the bucket seat, buckled in, and called Rhodey.

*

Natasha was suspicious of any guard who didn’t have shadows under their eyes. She was losing sleep over Sharon; everyone else who wasn’t part of the conspiracy should do the same. She glared at each guard in the dining hall in turn as she sat, automatically stuffing food in her face. 

“Natasha, dear. Chew your food. You won’t do anyone any good if you choke.” Peggy’s voice was as calm as ever, but there were lines on her face that hadn’t been there before the coronation. A day had passed with no news of Sharon. No ransom demand. No body. No body part. Nothing. 

On the one hand, Natasha understood that kidnappers wouldn’t make demands right away. They’d try to keep the victim’s family and friends on edge, force them to worry, to lose sleep and make mistakes and cave more easily. On the other hand, it was maddening not to know what was happening to Sharon. Natasha had perpetrated the kidnapping ploy in the past, but this was her first time on the receiving end. She had a new appreciation of what her victims’ families had endured.

“Maybe they’re moving her between locations,” Steve suggested. “I know we’ve searched the palace already, but if we do it again...”

Natasha growled at him. Steve and Skye had told her from the very beginning that they were here to help Sharon, and now Sharon was missing. Sure, she had failed her sovereign, too, but Steve didn’t care about her as much as Natasha did. Unfortunately for him, Natasha was feeling generous when it came to blame and stingy when it came to anything else. 

“Nick tells me that FitzSimmons and Skye have been hard at work studying the crime scene,” Peggy murmured, turning the conversation gently away from Natasha stabbing Steve with a stick of celery. “And Skye has been going over CCTV. They’ll find something. We have so much surveillance in this country it would impossible not to find anything.”

They finished their meal in more or less companionable silence. Once they were done, Natasha helped Peggy with her cane while Steve cleared their trays, and they shuffled down the hall toward Peggy’s rooms. 

Natasha was the first to spot Beth in the hallway. “Anything?”

Beth shook her head. “I was hoping you’d heard something.” Beth’s eyes were red. She had been Sharon’s personal maid for years, and like Natasha, had become something of a friend to the Queen. On top of that, Beth’s sole job had been to take care of Sharon, and now the Queen was gone. Beth had nothing to do but wander around the palace, see that Sharon’s rooms were taken care of even though there was no one there to make a mess of them, and fret.

Natasha nodded. “I’ll let you know when I hear something.” She hesitated. “If you aren’t busy, Skye is going to have a lot of surveillance to go through. Maybe you can help her?”

Beth’s arms went lax with relief, and she smiled brightly. “I will. Thank you.”

In Peggy’s apartment, Steve and Natasha waited while Peggy made inquiries on the telephone. None of them expected much, but they were all hoping that someone, somewhere, had found something.

After an hour, though, they had heard nothing, and Peggy’s features were worn. Natasha frowned at her and set a careful hand on Peggy’s shoulder. “They may find something tonight.”

Peggy looked up with a thin smile. “Right. I’ll see you two in the morning. Natasha, please wake me if there’s news.”

Natasha did a sweep of Peggy’s bedroom before taking her post outside at the door. Steve, having evidently decided to help bodyguard the duchess when Nick or Barton weren’t around, dragged himself to stand at the other side. She wasn’t sure if he thought he was being helpful or if he just felt guilty sitting down while she stood at attention, but she was too irritated with everyone and everything to ask.

She focused on the soft ticking of the clock on the mantle. Think. Where could they have taken Sharon? They’d have to leave the palace undetected. That wouldn’t be impossible, particularly after the coronation. People would have been in and out cleaning up and taking out the rubbish.

Steve distracted her with a nudge of his elbow. She glared at him, but he was staring intently out the window. “That guard went by three times.”

“They do that, Rogers.”

“No, he went past three times. I could see him in the light from Peggy’s window. But now the light there is out, and he hasn’t been by since.”

Natasha glared harder. “Because you can’t see him without the light.” Nonetheless, she wouldn’t feel comfortable until she’d checked on Peggy. She reached for the doorknob.

“But we still have the light from here, and-”

A loud crash came from inside the room. She and Steve sprang inside only to find Peggy in a nightgown and standing over the guard, the remnants of a broken chair in her raised arms.

Peggy straightened and dropped the last bits of the chair on the man. “That was an antique, you know. Queen Henrietta bought it. She wasn’t the decorator she thought she was. Truth be told, I asked for that chair to be moved here once all this trouble started. The archivists would never have let me destroy the ruddy thing otherwise. Thank God Parliament didn’t let her redo the throne room.” She nodded to Natasha and accepted the robe Steve draped over her shoulders. “I believe I knocked him out before he could kill himself, dear.”

For the first time in almost two days, Natasha smiled. It was the sort of smile that made Steve shiver, but it was still a smile.

*

Sharon only knew she was awake when she realized she was thinking and couldn’t stop. She’d woken herself twice now, and only by worrying about things elsewhere had she registered that she was awake. With the constant and complete darkness, it was hard to tell if her eyes were even open. 

At any rate, the darkness made it easier to sleep, and sleep kept her from going mad wondering what was happening to Peggy or how the government might fare without the two of them. Oh, God. If Antoine and Peggy were both gone and Rikki had to take the throne... Rikki was thoroughly unprepared for a Queen’s duties. Worse, she’d likely have to go through something like this herself if Sharon couldn’t stop it. And how _was_ she to stop it? She couldn’t escape. She’d tried, to no avail.

Which meant that after her, it would fall to Rikki, and nothing would stand between the country and civil war but a young girl’s safety. She sighed. This royal system really didn’t make sense in so many ways. Not that it mattered anymore. There would be a tumultuous takeover as political parties fought for dominance, and then another family or another system would rise to the top. It had happened before and would happen again. The only question was how many people would die in the process.

Maybe she should sign away her power... She’d be killed after, of course. They’d have no reason to keep her alive afterward. But the people who were loyal to her might have a better chance of surviving.

Sharon wrapped her outer skirt more tightly around her shoulders and left her underskirts to keep her legs as warm as they could. If she’d known she’d be kidnapped, she would have brought a coat, but as it was, the near-constant chill only made her angrier. She knew they hoped it would break her.

It wouldn’t. She was a Carter, and Carters didn’t break easily. And damn them for thinking she’d sign away her power. If she did as they asked, they would kill everyone loyal to her. Her friends and allies wouldn’t be spared; they would just be picked off over time. She’d be dead. Rikki would be unprepared. Parliament itself wouldn’t want her on the throne. Sharon’s people would be left to fend for themselves, picked off person by person until there was no one left. And they would all die knowing she had given up. She wouldn’t signed the papers, but the thought of what Natasha and May would think of her for considering it made her ashamed.

So no. No, she wasn’t going to do what Rumlow and his boss wanted her to.

No, not even knowing that they had searched her before locking her up and had taken all of her knives would break her. Some of the knives had been hidden in places where she hated the thought of a stranger’s hands being, too. She wondered which of them had searched her so thoroughly. The sick feeling in her stomach said it had been Rumlow.

Damn it. Executions had fallen out of fashion decades ago, but Sharon had half a mind to bring them back. 

She tried to force herself back to sleep. Maybe she even managed it. She wasn’t sure how much time passed before she heard the sound of someone walking in the hall. She sat up and arranged her skirts properly before leaning against the wall, affecting a careless pose. 

When she saw the tray in Rumlow’s hand, her stomach betrayed her with a growl. She squinted at the harsh light from his torch.

He smirked and set the tray on the floor, lifting a thin door at the bottom of the gate to slide the tray through. “Hungry?”

She shrugged. “Not necessarily.” Damn it, stomach. “Come to gloat, Rumlow? You must feel great with how far you’ve come, guarding me. Bringing me food. Playing my lackey. Oh, wait. It’s exactly what you did before. Yes, you must be so pleased.”

If she had angered him, he didn’t show it. But then, she hadn’t really expected him to. To have hidden amongst them for so long with no one being suspicious, he must have had excellent self-control. 

Well. She’d push him farther. She got up and walked slowly, purposefully to the bars. She wrapped her fingers around the metal slabs. “Tell me, Rumlow. How does it feel to still be my bitch?”

He studied her, and she smirked at him. If there was one thing she had learned as a princess, or even as a random girl in a club, it was how some men seemed to get upset when a woman thought herself their equal.

In one fell swoop, he grabbed one of her hands and pulled it through the gap in the bars to the shoulder, twisting it until Sharon heard something pop and cried out. 

“You were saying?” he asked calmly. He reached through the bars and wrenched her chin toward him, knocking her cheek against the metal. The angle made her neck go hot with pain.

Her shoulder was on fire, the pain in her arm gradually turning numb. She gasped for breath and whimpered as she tried to move her other arm. “Say what you want, but I still made you lose your temper, Rumlow. Prisoner or no, I still have power over you.”

He let her go and pushed her back, her hand catching at his pocket. He glanced at it, then at her, and grinned. “Trying to pickpocket, your Majesty?” He shook his head and bent over, reaching through the bars to tip over her bowl of pathetic broth. “You’re not as powerful as you think. You’ll learn to face reality soon enough.”

She watched him and the light from his torch disappear before she hugged her arm to her chest and looked down at the bowl’s spilled contents. It had only been broth, and it had already disappeared into the cracks of the floor. Her stomach ached as her arm burned and her head spun. She could have used what little strength the broth would have given her. She took a deep breath to clamp down on a sob and stumbled back to the cot.

*

“Romanoff, I appreciate your diligence.” Rumlow leaned against the table. “But this is the third time you and May have questioned me in as many days, not counting all the other people who have questioned me. My time would be better spent looking for the Queen, don’t you think?”

Natasha glared at him. “Your time is best spent answering the questions, Rumlow. I don’t care how many times they’ve been put to you.”

Rumlow shrugged. “Fine, fine. Another recap of the night? Fine.” He leaned back in his seat. “I went on duty at one in the afternoon...”

*

Pepper gasped for breath as she jumped out of the car, her knees shaking so badly she had to lean against the car for support. “I’m having a firm talk with Tony when he gets back.”

“As you wish, Ms Potts,” JARVIS answered. “I’ll wait here to take you home when you’re ready.” He didn’t seem upset in the slightest, and Pepper forced herself toward the steps of the White Palace, eying the guards warily.

She hadn’t gone far before the king and Sam met her, with Sam offering her an arm. They exchanged forced pleasantries until they reached the king’s private chambers, and Pepper found herself thinking that the king had fewer gold furnishings than Howard Stark.

Once the door was closed, she didn’t waste time. She pulled out the thumb drive and handed it over. “I already looked at it,” she confessed. “There’s a file they sent him. It looks like members of the Ten Rings. They’ve got Tony and want money for his release. Stane isn’t paying it, though.” She saw the king and his bodyguard glance at each other. “He’s hiring someone else. For Stark Industries. We have to save Tony. Stane’s the one that’s been selling tech to the Axis and the Rings. And to other enemies, too. Over a hundred sales in the past year alone.”

The king nodded. “And we’ll do everything in our power to do just that.” He went to his desk and dialed a number. “Hill. We have evidence that Obadiah Stane is working with the Axis, and he’s also in contact with and has sold weapons to the Ten Rings. I want him arrested immediately. I trust you can handle the interrogation? Good.” He hung up. “Obadiah Stane will be arrested by the end of the day. Do you have protection?”

“I- I can get some people.” She knew JARVIS would look out for her. Rhodey was abroad and wouldn’t return until he’d found Tony.

The king picked up the phone again. “Coulson? Could you come to my rooms, please? Thank you.” He hung up again. “Agent Coulson is one of my most trusted advisers and is a trained guard at the palace. He’ll help you in whatever way you need.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Pepper nodded. After the day she’d had, she wouldn’t mind some help.

*

Natasha met Barton, Nick, and Peggy in Peggy’s rooms. In Sharon’s absence, Barton had been taking shifts to guard Peggy, and now he sat on the back of the couch and watching everything with sharp eyes. He gave her a brief nod as she closed the door behind her.

She looked over the group and noted how few of them there were. “Where’s May?” 

Fury nodded toward a chair, and she took a seat. “Chasing down a lead.”

She frowned. “And Rogers?”

“Still turning over the palace,” Peggy answered cheerfully. “He doesn’t handle a lack of plan very well, I’m afraid.”

“They wouldn’t keep her here,” Barton said. “They’d move her. We’re looking for a warehouse, an abandoned house, something like that.”

“We’ve had police searching through those since she disappeared,” Fury groused. His eye was red from lack of sleep. 

“They’re likely on the take,” Barton pointed out. “Whoever’s after the royal family would need people not only in the palace, but also in law enforcement, forensics units, and the press.”

Peggy’s lips twisted into a wry smile. “That would certainly explain many of the stories they’ve been running.” The Palace had been hesitant to announce Sharon’s kidnapping for fear it would cause alarm. As such, today’s headlines had dealt with how Sharon was nowhere to be seen and was likely galavanting across the world. Some papers had implied she was afraid to rule because she knew she wasn’t up to the task, others that she was using her wealth and position to live anywhere but the palace and party. Hours after she’d read the articles, Peggy was still having difficulty not rolling her eyes. “It gives me an idea, though. Nick. It’s been a long time since I held a press conference, and my family is overdue for a speech on this matter. Bit like riding a bike, don’t you think?”

*

May had been following Ward for hours. She had watched him flirt with Skye, sit through multiple interrogations, visit FitzSimmons, go to lunch, join a search for the Queen, take dinner in the below-stairs dining hall, and at long last leave the palace. It was almost nightfall, and she tailed him easily through the streets as streetlights flicked on and traffic picked up. The city was always a little too alive at night for May’s tastes. After she’d come home from the War and first noticed how lively it truly was, she’d always thought that the liveliness would annoy her less one day. It had yet to happen.

Still, working for royalty had its perks. She hadn’t been bored since taking the job, and she was often too busy concerning herself with the Queen’s safety to think about herself or her own past. 

Which was the only thing that could ever entice her to follow one of her own employees through the city. He stopped at a newsstand, picked up a paper only to set it down again, then continued on his way. She frowned as he headed to one of the cathedrals. She hadn’t thought him a religious man. There’d been nothing about it in his file.

She trailed him through the cemetery, her leg almost crumpling as something struck her. She rolled behind a gravestone out of instinct before inspecting the hole in the fabric. Bullet. Through and through. She’d had worse. Specks of stone fell on her hair as the shooter hit the gravestone again, and May lowered herself as much as she could before glancing around. Three men were weaving their way to her, all in plainsclothes. Wonderful. So three guys and a sniper concealed away somewhere.

She rolled her eyes and pressed the comm in her ear. “Romanoff. Ward’s at St. Paul’s. Get him. Break him. They left him alive so he could monitor us, and his backup just arrived. I can deal with them, but we can’t let him get away.”

She didn’t wait for a response. Instead, she crouched down until she heard footsteps closing in. They’d stay at a distance to avoid any physical attack from her, but she had experience handling that. It just meant she’d have to jump farther.

Once she heard the footsteps slow, she sprang and stayed low, attacking his legs and bringing him to her before knocking him out and moving to the next. More gravestones splintered with bullets, but not enough that she could rely on the sniper being out of bullets. Whoever it was, they were smart, biding their time. He’d nearly shot her each time.

But she couldn’t wait here for him to kill her. She kept low and sprinted for the gate, gritting her teeth as a bullet scratched her arm. They were good, but they weren’t fast enough.

She stayed under the trees along the path as much as she could, then used cover from passing lorries to get across the street. She slowed when she reached the building, listening for signs of someone retreating. There was only silence. She searched the building nonetheless, and she wasn’t surprised when no one else tried to kill her and the room with an open window was empty.

*

It took breaking several traffic laws and Skye and Beth monitoring the CCTV footage for Natasha to catch up with Ward. She arranged for him to find her leaning against a wall in the alley, and when he finally sprang from the restaurant’s back exit, she hid her pleasure at seeing the surprise on his face with ease.

“Romanoff. What are you doing here?”

She smiled. “Skye told me you said I have a pretty face. Did you mean it?”

His eyes swivelled to the side, gauging his escape. How had she not seen earlier that he was so stupid? If he thought he could escape her at this point, he’d always been too stupid to guard the royal family. “I did, yeah.”

She drifted closer. “This whole thing with Sharon, I could really use a drink.”

He didn’t move. As stupid as he was, he was smart enough to be suspicious. At the last second, he shifted his weight to attack her, but she was already close enough to counter. She’d been ready to beat the crap out of people for days now, and she didn’t hold back with Ward. All she had to do was keep him alive. In seconds, he was knocked out on the ground, and she was fishing the cyanide caplets out of his mouth.

She nodded at Barton when she was done. It was merely an acknowledgement of his presence; she wasn’t thrilled that he had followed her. “You’re supposed to be with Peggy.”

“I’m just here to play bagman real fast.” He hefted Ward onto his shoulders and turned back down the alley. “Besides. Pretty sure anyone who messes with the Duchess without me around deserves what she gives them.” He grinned. “Gotta admit. I like women who can beat the crap out of people.” He dumped Ward in the trunk with no concern whatsoever and secured his wrists and ankles with zip-ties.

Natasha gave him a rueful glance as she got in the driver’s seat. “Don’t get any ideas, Barton.”

“Never said I had a death wish, Romanoff.”

“Never had to.”

He smirked and waved before heading off to his motorcycle, and Natasha peeled out. Ward was going to wish he’d never been born.

*

“Good evening.” Peggy’s voice was warm and pleasant despite the strain of the past few days. “I am Duchess Margaret Carter. Normally, the Queen would address you, but though we have tried to keep it quiet, I’m sure most of you have noticed she is missing. Some in the press would have you believe it was of her own volition, but she was, in fact, kidnapped after the Coronation Ball and her personal officer was attacked. We have received no ransom demand, nor have we received any sign that she has been harmed. We do not know yet who took her, nor why.

“But we know this. The Axis has infiltrated our country and sought to destroy us from within.They have betrayed our men and women, our sons and daughters, fighting in the War. Battle plans leaked, camps and safe houses compromised. I suspect the same individuals who took my niece are the same people who have so grievously injured so many of our families.”

Clint looked out from the wings. There weren’t many press here; the royal family hadn’t had a good relationship with them in years, other than Peggy. Her service in the War made her nigh untouchable, and the few times they had tried to besmirch her name, there had been strong backlash, particularly from veterans. He hadn’t thought much of that loyalty before he’d met her, but now he was beginning to understand how impressive it was. She’d obviously done more in the War than most people suspected, and the people who knew her then were still devoted to her decades later.

“Wherever Sharon is, I am confident she is putting up a fight. As a matter of fact, I pity her captors. She is strong-willed and as capable a Queen as this country has ever seen. She has spent years hounding politicians in order to secure better lives for us all, and I suspect she is now showing her captors just how determined and willful she can be. But until she returns, I must ask a serious favor of all of you.”

Barton frowned. One of the cameras was flashing, but the shutter wasn’t closing, refracting with light. He glanced toward Fury on the other side of the stage to see if he’d noticed, but Fury was watching faces. That was the difference between traditionally-trained people and carnies, Clint thought ruefully. Traditionally-trained people tried to win based on skill; carnies sought out the trick and how to overcome it. He focused on the camera again. He couldn’t just have the man pointed out and arrested. The man would see the officers and swallow his cyanide before anyone could stop him.

While Clint watched, Peggy continued speaking. “That is to carry on. This is not the first time we as a nation have faced difficulty. It will not be the last.”

The index finger didn’t touch the button. The man was using his thumb on the bottom of the camera to operate the flash. Holy crap. This guy was terrible at pretending to be a photographer. Clint couldn’t wait to find out who’d let him in. It was one more person to shake down for potential leads.

“I will see to it that this country will survive without civil war or economic upheaval-”

The index finger dropped, and Clint sprang forward. He felt the bullet graze his back as he tackled Peggy to the floor. When he lifted his head, he saw Nick running to the man, gun drawn, cameras trained on him. Clint looked around for anyone who might be take advantage of the distraction.

Nick looked back at Clint and shook his head. He hastily got off of Peggy before helping her up and handing her the cane again.

“Convenient,” Peggy said, taking her seat again. She didn’t bother fixing a stray lock of hair as she began speaking again as if nothing had happened. “As I was saying. The welfare of this country and its people has always been tantamount to my family, and so it will always be. Be vigilant, I implore you. Things may become very dangerous. The people who seek to destroy our lives and country, who have taken so many of our children, will be rooted out and destroyed. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some vermin to hunt down.”

*

James and Sam walked along the edge of the rose garden. James’ nose was buried in yet another report, but Sam was free to look around them, and he tsked at what he saw.

“You know, you can’t call it a rose garden if you don’t have roses.”

“Sure,” James muttered. 

“Yeah, yeah. Pretend you don’t hear me.”

“I’m listening,” James responded, his eyes moving to the next page. “I’m just not going to concentrate on what you’re saying until you have something worth saying.”

“Rose. Garden. Can’t have it without roses, man. What you’ve got there is just a patch of dirt with some weeds.”

“Mmm. Gardener got shipped out two years ago and never made it back. The job wasn’t really a priority.”

Sam went quiet. “Now I feel like an asshole.”

James grinned. “Don’t. He wrapped up his tour and retired to Florida. He still keeps in touch.”

“Oh. Now I feel like _I’m_ not the asshole here.”

James’ grin widened, though it faltered the security guards around them started shouting and Sam’s hand went to his ear.

Sam moved automatically to cover James’ body as he listened the chatter, and then he paused. “Wait. Wilson here. Did you say a brunette female in a tiny hatchback and a large blond guy just drove through the gate?” At the response, he sighed. “And she said her name was Dr. Jane Foster, and he said his name was Thor. Man, how many people do you know who look like Thor? Does he have arms the size of somebody’s head?” He looked at James and rolled his eyes. “If he’s really the Prince of Asgard, you’d better not shoot him,” he warned. “I do _not_ want to fight Asgardians. Do _not_ shoot them, understand?” He nodded to James. “It sounds like Thor’s made an unscheduled visit.”

James spun on his heel and headed back inside. “What the hell happened?” he demanded.

“They stopped Foster at the gate, and when they thought she was joking and tried to get her to turn back, she decided to drive right up to the palace.”

James cursed as he reached a window and recognized Thor, then cursed again before running to the doorway. 

Sam hurried to look out the window and see what James had seen. He smirked at the sight of Thor crunched into Jane’s passenger seat, knees almost to his chest. The sight of several guns trained on the car sent him sprinting after James.

“Guns down!” James commanded. Around him, palace guards hesitantly lowered their guns. “Guns _down,_ ” he growled. This time, his tone was as much a threat as it was an order. The guards lowered their guns entirely, James stepped forward and opened his arms wide. “Thor. To what do we owe the honor?”

It took a couple seconds for Thor to get the door open and stretch himself out. He towered over the car, a deceptively relaxed and easy grip on his hammer. “James!” he greeted him warmly. “I am here with Dr. Foster.” Unlike him, Jane had no difficulty in getting out of the car, and even though her and Thor’s eyes were focused on the guns around them, she moved quickly to Thor’s side. “We seek your council.” After making sure no one seemed inclined to shoot them, Thor relaxed and lowered his hammer. 

“And Betty’s, if she’s here,” Jane groused.

James moved forward and clasped Thor’s hand warmly. “Good to see you. Jane, you, too. Come on in.”

“I apologize for the inconvenience of not calling ahead,” Thor muttered. “I tried to call, but I could not find anyone to take me seriously.”

“I’ll give you my personal number so that it won’t happen again.” James led them to his office. “Jane. About Betty... You might want to sit down.”

*

Steve found May nursing her wounds in the interrogation viewing room. “Jesus. Are you okay?”

“Sure. Even got more people to question. You?”

He shook his head. “She isn’t in the palace. I’m wasting my time.”

“Someone had to search the palace multiple times.” It was impossible to tell if she was joking. May pulled her jacket back on and rolled her shoulders. Her hair was still a mess, but she didn’t seem to care. “We captured three of their people for questioning. Someone tried to kill the Duchess at her press conference. Natasha is interrogating Ward. It’s only a matter of time now.”

Steve glanced into the interview room, then gaped. “Jesus Christ.” That... was a lot of blood. Oh, God. Natasha was so much scarier than Steve could ever have imagined. He’d been scared of her before, but he hadn’t been scared enough.

“Not many people have as much experience as she does,” May agreed. Natasha rapped her knuckles against the window and headed to the door. Behind her, Ward slumped against the table and went still. “But she gets results.”

*

“You should have stayed with Peggy,” Natasha scowled. She stayed low in the brush and kept her eyes on the surrounding countryside. They were only an hour outside the city, but this was still technically royal land. No one had been allowed to build on it. The four of them were the only ones around for kilometers. Except for Sharon and the people they were going to kill, at least.

With Buckingham less than an hour away and other, nicer establishments willing to court the royals all over the country, no one had seen fit to keep up with the castle on the grounds. The castle had been built in Elizabethan times, made to resemble a medieval structure, complete with drafty rooms, inconvenient location, and a total lack of comfort. It had been gifted to the royal family soon after its completion, and the castle’s former owner had gone on to build a more sensible castle up north. The royals had never used it as a residence, and over time, dungeons had been chiseled out beneath the castle. Prisoners had been sent there for everything from embezzling to espionage and had never been heard from again. According to what Ward had told Natasha, the dungeons were still there and mostly intact. 

For the kidnappers, the castle was ideal. No one ever went there; even Peggy had nearly forgotten its existence. It was close enough to London for the kidnappers to visit Sharon and far enough away that even if Sharon managed to escape, she likely wouldn’t be detected before she was recaptured. It even had hidden tunnels that the wardens had used centuries ago; even if the kidnappers were there, it was unlikely they’d be discovered.

“The Duchess almost stabbed me when I suggested it. With a _sword_ ,” Clint hissed. “I use a bow and arrow, and even _I_ think that’s a little too medieval.”

“Children.” May’s tone was flat. She didn’t like this. They should at least have got Rumlow, but Natasha had insisted on not giving him the heads up. After seeing Natasha work, May was disinclined to pursue the matter. Natasha might be a better, more determined spy than Fury himself, and if she said to keep Rumlow out of it, Rumlow was out.

She glanced at Steve, who was flexing his shield arm as if he still couldn’t get used to using the shield. She’d talked him into using a gun, but he was still a court painter in a super-soldier’s body. “Barton, Romanoff. You two together. Rogers, you stay with me.” Each of them nodded, and May pressed a finger to her comm. “Skye. You in?” She waited a beat. “Loop it.”

At her nod, Natasha led the way to the hidden entrance of the castle. One of the tunnel entrances that the wardens had used had been made to resemble a utility hut. As out of place as it seemed, it still looked too dull to be bothered with, unless someone noticed the brand-new locks on the door. Natasha was done with them in less than a minute, Barton scanning the horizon with an arrow at the ready.

“You two clear the perimeter. Rogers, we’re taking the interior. Remember what Peggy said about this place having rat holes. Not even she’s sure where all the hidden passages are.” 

Once the door opened, Natasha bolted in, and Barton ran after her. Steve went next, and May was surprised to find herself being the one who had to try and keep up. Steve slowed when he saw she was limping, and she shook her head. “Hit them fast, hit them hard. Don’t let them call out for help. If they get away here, we may lose our only chance to find the Queen.”

He nodded, but he still didn’t seem certain.

“ _Go._ I’ll catch up.”

“Yes ma’am.” Another glance, and then he was gone.

*

Sharon didn’t move when they pushed her food in. Her stomach had finally stopped aching with hunger, but her throat was dry and painful, and she could hardly move without feeling dizzy. Even the faint light from the torch made her head swim. 

“Get up or I’ll spill this batch, too,” Rumlow threatened.

“Rumlow. That is no way to treat our guest. Do you not see how weak she is? Perhaps she is ready to help us. Even be reunited with her aunt, yes?”

She pushed herself up. Her body felt as if all her parts were disconnected from one another. She glared at the man, even though his face wavered in her vision. “Fuck you, asshole.”

The man tsked. “We are asking your assistance in a smooth transition. But if you insist on being obstinate... You were a means to an end, but there are other means.” He nodded to Rumlow. “Pity. I appreciate spirited creatures much more when they’re in my employ. Take heart. Your corpse will provide a purpose your life lacked.” His features darkened. “We must make allowances for the Duchess’s actions.” 

Sharon only realized the man was walking away when Rumlow opened the door to her cell. She pushed herself to her feet, but she was too slow; he wrapped his hands around her throat and squeezed.

*

The entrance had let them out into a room where dust and leaves covered the floor. The footprints stood out clearly; whoever had walked here before had no fear of being caught. Barton nodded to them, but Natasha was already on her way to the door. She led the way silently to a stone courtyard and frowned. There were guards along the parapets, most of them looking bored, but professional enough that they’d be quick to respond if she and Barton took out only one at a time.

Barton glanced at Natasha. “Wanna see something cool?” He notched three arrows and grinned at her.

“You’re kidding, right? How old are you?”

“Old enough to do this.” He stood and fired; three men on the far side of the castle fell. “Don’t get any ideas, Romanoff.”

*

Steve frowned as he ran through the kitchen. He smelled smoke. No, not smoke, but definitely as smell as if something had been left burning. It was a sickly smell, like burning oil. He wandered around the room. The only thing in the room free of dust was a portable coffee maker, and that wasn’t smoking at all. It was strongest next to the cupboard, and when he opened the door, he frowned. The smell was stronger, but he couldn’t see anything burning. 

And he noticed something else, too. A breeze. He gently stepped toward the back of the cupboard and pressed against the wall. It swung back at his hand, and he studied the oiled hinges for a moment before stepping inside.

*

Sharon kicked, catching Rumlow between the legs. It wasn’t as hard as she’d have liked, but it was enough to make him momentarily loosen his grip. May and Natasha’s lessons had become second nature enough that she lifted her elbow to crash against his shoulder automatically.

He was taller than her trainers were, though, and she was off-balance and still too slow. He caught her arm and grinned at her as he threw her against the bars of the cell. She hit with a grunt and fell to the floor.

“Boss didn’t say you had to die fast, so I might as well have some more fun with it.” He grabbed her ankle and dragged her closer. She lifted her fist to punch him, but her hand hit something hard and metallic. She pulled her knuckles back with a yelp.

“Sorry!”

What? That voice was familiar. But there was no way- “Steve?”

He- or someone who looked like Steve’s older brother - hit Rumlow in the face with the- holy crap, was that a shield?

She gaped, hardly aware as Steve pulled her to her feet and got between her and Rumlow. “Go! I’ll hold him off!”

She blinked. It _sounded_ like Steve. No, she remembered now. The experiment. He was taller, Natasha had told her wryly. He’d stepped on her feet at her coronation, and he had been much, much heavier than the first time. It was Steve.

Rumlow launched himself forward, attacking Steve with movements so fast that Sharon’s head spun. Most of the punches were blocked with the shield, but a kick underneath the shield brought Steve to his knees. He hit Rumlow in the abdomen to hold him back, and Rumlow glared at him before attacking him, striking any weak point he could.

She couldn’t leave him. He wasn’t as skilled at fighting as Rumlow was. She couldn’t leave him to die.

And not just because she was too weak and dizzy to run away, either.

Her eyes went to the torch in the sconce, and she stumbled toward it. It was heavy and ungainly in her hands, and she nearly dropped it when her injured arm protested against the strain. Steve was slowly but surely giving way to Rumlow. His punches were strong, but they lacked Natasha and May’s dangerous precision. 

Sharon waited until he had Rumlow distracted, then swung the torch like a bat. She cried as her arm failed her, but the momentum and what little strength was in her good arm carried the torch the rest of the way. The fire hit Rumlow squarely in the face. He screamed in anger and pain as the fire hit his eye and blindly punched at her. She whimpered when his fist struck her arm, but before he could strike her again, Steve rose again and punched Rumlow in the jaw. 

Rumlow hit the wall and and pushed himself up; Steve gathered all his strength and brought the shield down on his head. Rumlow fell again and didn’t move.

Steve turned toward her, panting. “Thanks for that.”

She shook her head. She stopped when the dizziness hit again. “He was about to kill me. I owe you.”

“You okay?”

Before she could answer, they both heard footsteps down the hall. He grabbed her arm to run, and she cried out in pain. Her knees crumpled beneath her, and everything went black.

*

Steve was so surprised when she fell that he nearly dropped her. He managed to catch her and cradled her in his arms. He held his shield in front of her and blocked her other side with his body as he ran back the way he’d come. After his fight with Rumlow, he didn’t want to see what the others were capable of, particularly not when Sharon was unable to defend herself and he wasn’t sure he’d be able to defend her, either.

He ran through the dark stone corridors, his head low to avoid the overhanging beams. He shifted his grip on Sharon as the tunnel narrowed to a fine point at a couple places. He passed cell after cell, rounded a corner at the large room with the table scattered with maps and papers that he’d found before hearing the commotion down the hall. He selected the tunnel he’d come from before and held her close as he heard voices shout the alarm behind him.

He nearly fell when a figure stepped out from an alcove and he found one of Barton’s arrows aimed at his face. He quickly slid to the side, glancing at Natasha behind Barton. “They’re about a hundred feet back. Can you bring the tunnel down?” 

“It would be my genuine pleasure,” Clint responded. He switched arrows and fired.

*

An aide stopped the four of them as James led them to his office. “This came for you, your Majesty.”

Sam nearly jumped in front of James when the aide flourished a thick manilla envelope, but as soon as the envelope was in James’ hands, the aide walked quickly away. Nonetheless, Sam glared at the man’s back and committed as much as he could to memory. He ignored the looks Jane and Thor gave one another.

James studied the envelope. “It’s all right,” he muttered. He opened it, made certain of its contents, then closed it again. “The forensics report on Antoine.” His voice was tight. “I asked for a copy to be sent to me. Shall we go?”

*

Tony fell to his knees when he finally saw the helicopters flying over head. If he were hydrated enough, he would have cried. As it was, he waited for Rhodey to reach him and let his friend give him a tight hug that he returned as much as he could. Rhodey half-carried him to the helicopter.

“Next time Pepper and I tell you to stop being an asshole, you do it,” Rhodey said, relieved to see him.

“Don’t count on it,” Tony replied. His voice was gruff after days of consuming nothing but hot air. He’d give his entire fortune for some water.

“Okay, okay. Just don’t be enough of an asshole that we put you on another plane.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

*

Sharon woke to the sound of Peggy’s voice and forced her eyes open. She was in her bedroom, with her leftover guard surrounding her. The room was bright enough that she had to squint. The curtains were quickly drawn, but after days of total darkness, it still seemed too bright. She blinked at those gathered in the room. Barton stood near the window, Natasha at the foot of her bed. Peggy was at her side, which meant Fury was likely in the outer apartments somewhere. Steve was on her other side, his head bowed. She couldn’t tell if he was asleep or not.

She turned her face to Peggy, who smoothed down her hair and smiled down at her. “About time you woke up.”

Sharon frowned. She could still hear Peggy’s voice, even though Peggy’s mouth was closed. She turned her face to her television in the corner as she slowly took in the press conference. “They said they got you,” she croaked.

“They tried.” Peggy pressed a straw to her lips, and Sharon drank gratefully. “People tend to underestimate old women.”

“Idiots.” She dropped her head back against the pillow. She felt weak and dizzy. She hated it almost as much as she’d hated being kidnapped in the first place. At least here, though, she had friends. She frowned at Clint and Natasha. “Tell me I look better than you two.”

Clint half-smirked. “You look better than Romanoff, your Majesty.”

Natasha glared at him, though there was little anger in it. “How are you feeling?”

Sharon considered her answer, wiggling her toes beneath the sheets. Her arm was in a sling. She felt warm and clean for the first time since before she’d been taken. Despite just waking up, she felt like going back to sleep. “Much better?”

Natasha shook her head.

“Fine. Better.” Natasha accepted the answer, and Sharon turned to study Peggy, the gray hairs that hadn’t been there before. She reached out with her good arm, her fingers trembling, and Peggy grasped her hand. “Wait, what the hell. Is that you giving a press conference?”

Peggy chuckled. “Your father wasn’t the only one capable of talking in front of a camera.”

Sharon groaned. “Someone tell me what I’ve missed.” She doubted she’d be awake until the end, but it would be nice to hear their voices as she fell asleep.

“And don’t forget,” Natasha spoke up, “we’re going to need a report of what happened to you.”

Sharon’s groan got louder. “Fine. Get me some food.” She heard something that sounded like a relieved chuckle and turned her face toward Steve. “What? I’m half-starved.”

He shook his head. “Nothing. Just, that’s very you.”

She glared at him. “What’s _that_ supposed to mean?”

He cleared his throat and glanced at Natasha. “I’ll tell Beth you’d like some food.” He quickly stood and left, leaving Sharon to glare at his back.

Once he was gone, she turned to stare at Natasha. “What the hell did he mean by that?”


	6. Battle of the Blue Lights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone new is on the throne. Christine gets an interview and some news. Secrets are kept. Raza makes a discovery. Thor is threatened. Jane might know someone who can help stop the Tesseract. The Battle of the Blue Lights heralds the end of the War - one way or another.

As James led Thor, Jane, and Sam to his apartments, he talked in a quiet undertone to Jane. “Her plane went down days ago. Supposedly, it was attacked by a green creature, but we found evidence of an incendiary device. Everyone on the plane is safe and accounted for, except for Betty. We haven’t heard anything from her, nor about her.”

He paused when he reached his apartment door, and Sam slipped inside and did a hurried search for more bugs. Outside, he explained the situation to Thor and Jane. She looked quickly to Thor, but Thor was staring intently at James with such poorly-hidden confusion and disgust that James wondered if Asgardians had ever spied on their own monarchs before.

Sam returned, scribbled a note, and handed it to James before standing at attention. He hadn’t been able to find any bugs, but he suspected the bugs were just harder to find.

James read the note and nodded. He lowered his voice. “We’ll talk as usual. Innocuous. We’ll write down anything we don’t want anyone else to know.”

“But Betty-” Jane started.

James set a heavy hand on her shoulder. “We’ll find her.” Raising his voice again, he led the way into the room. Jane followed and snatched the notepad away. “Come in, please. Make yourselves at home. “I’m sorry for the trouble, Thor. Can I get you a drink to help smooth things over?”

“A coffee would be most welcome.” Thor sat in a thick chair as if it were a throne. “You fix your own drinks, James?”

“Trust issues,” James joked. “We talked about PTSD at the ball. Paranoia is part of it, apparently. I’ve been working on it.”

“I’m pleased to hear that you’re making progress.”

James grinned as he watched Jane write a small essay on the notepad. He tore his attention away long enough to start the coffee maker. “One sugar or two?”

Thor’s head snapped up with renewed interest. Did they not have sugar in Asgard, either? “Two,” he said after a moment’s debate.

“None,” Jane interjected firmly, her pencil still moving swiftly across the page. “He’s bad enough with caffeine.”

Thor thought it over and gave James a nod. “None,” he agreed. “We do not have coffee in Asgard. I was not raised on it as you were.”

“Somehow,” Sam spoke from the doorway, “I think you’ll manage to handle it. You handled that fire thing in New Mexico.” He shook his head and sighed. “And I just realized how lacking my workout regimen is.” He pointed at his arms, then at Thor’s. “You’re making us look bad, man.”

“It was never my intention to make you look bad,” Thor said with an easy grin. “But it comes so easily...”

Sam’s eyes widened. “Whoa. James! Your fellow royal is trying to take me down a peg!”

James kept his eyes firmly on the notepad. “If you arm wrestle him, he’ll just do it again. And easily.”

Sam sighed and leaned in toward Thor. “You know, I used to have friends here. Now look at me.”

On the table, Jane pushed the notepad toward James, and he quickly left the coffee maker to read over it. Thor watched, and Sam looked around as the silence started to drag. “So does everyone in Asgard have arms like yours?”

James scribbled something, and Jane wrote a quick reply.

“Ah, no,” Thor said distractedly. “I know many Asgardians with thinner arms. Some of the women have arms as thin as yours. Though they could beat you at arm wrestling, too, I’m afraid.”

“No faith,” Sam muttered.

James got to his feet. “Thor, I have a very... pressing favor to ask.”

Thor gave a slow nod. “Ask.”

“I need to travel over the next couple days, and I was hoping you would... oversee things here. I suspect we could learn a lot from you.”

“I’m sure I can learn much from you, too.” Thor pushed himself to his feet and held out his hand. “I am honored.”

James gave his hand a hard shake. “I’m honored to have allies such as yourself. Sam, we’ll need to pack for a couple days. Soldiers’ packing will do. Can you handle that while I show Thor everything he might need and take care of the paperwork?”

Sam raised an eyebrow and debated his odds of talking James out of whatever he’d decided. It almost sounded as if James had decided to give Thor the keys to the kingdom. To say it was unprecedented for a king to give up control of his kingdom to another regent, no matter for how brief a time, was an understatement. But it was probably best Sam didn’t say so in front of Thor. “Sure. Jane, you-”

“I’ll stay with them,” she said quickly. “I’d be more use to them than you.”

He nodded and sighed. “I’ll be back in ten, then.”

*

Sharon next saw Steve and May during the changing of the guard, though she noted that the guard didn’t so much change as curl up in chairs or on the couch in her room. May took the post at the door, and Steve reclaimed his seat from before.

“It’s still weird seeing how tall you are,” Sharon said softly. It was only half meant in jest. She had towered over him before, and now he was taller by several inches.

He grinned and ran a hand through his hair. “I’m still getting used to it myself.”

“Same here. I’m not used to looking up at you.”

He nodded, then shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Hey, look. What I said last time I was here. I shouldn’t have said it. I believed gossip, and I should have known better. I’ve been kicking myself for it ever since. If there’s anything I can do...”

“I _have_ been reconsidering my stance on executions.” He blanched, and she grinned. “For our enemies. You’re good. You’re not the first person who’s believed that crap.”

“That doesn’t mean I was right to do it. I’ll make it up to you.”

“Rogers. You just saved my life. I think we’re even.”

He didn’t look like he agreed, but he also didn’t seem inclined to argue. They lapsed into silence, and she started to squirm underneath the sheets. Someone had added a blanket at some point, and as much as she enjoyed the heat after the time in her cell, she’d spent so much time asleep lately that she was getting sick of lying down.

“I’ve spent enough time in bed,” she said flatly. She shoved the coverings off and pushed herself up with her good arm, cursing quietly as her head spun. Strong hands steadied her, and she glanced at Steve, unsettled. “You’re... definitely different now.”

“Yeah, I’m still getting used to _that,_ too.”

She let him help her off the bed and grinned at him when he dropped his jacket over her shoulders. “This one fits better than your last one.” The brown aviation jacket went past her waist and hung loosely off her shoulders. There was a weight to it that reminded her of the heavy coronation robes - not that she’d ever tell him that.

He grumbled but didn’t protest as she used him to steady herself.

Natasha made a disapproving sound behind them, and Sharon turned to scrunch her face at her.

“Get some sleep, Natasha. I won’t go far. I’ll stay in sight of May, promise.” She turned to Steve. “May’s outside, right?”

“I am,” May said quietly from the doorway. “And I agree with Natasha. You should get rest.”

Sharon rolled her eyes. “For God’s sake. I was only held captive for a couple days and nearly died. It was like a draftier version of Parliament. Stop treating me like I’m so damn fragile.”

May’s face tended to reveal only what she wanted revealed. Sharon wondered if May meant to show that she’d eaten something sour.

Sharon softened her demeanor. “Just a couple minutes of walking around the room. I just... need to move around a little. And then I’ll go back to bed. Promise.”

May still didn’t seem entirely pleased, but she relented and looked to Steve. Sharon knew they were communicating silently, and though she could imagine what they were thinking, she hated that she hadn’t seen them get to this point. The people who’d been protecting her seemed closer than before, understood one another more deeply than they had before. It was like they’d all taken the same language courses and Sharon had missed weeks of school.

Speaking of her guards becoming closer, now that she thought about it, one seemed to be missing. She glanced around. “Where’s Ward? Did they-” She frowned. Had they killed him because he’d been protecting her?

May pursed her lips. She looked at Steve before she answered, “He was working with Rumlow. Getting knocked out was a ruse to allow him to monitor us while you were held captive. We figured it out before he did too much damage, and we didn’t reveal anything to either of them. Ward’s currently in the infirmary at Wakefield.”

Sharon felt a chill and after a moment pulled Steve’s jacket tighter around her. “Oh.” So two of the people she’d trusted had not only betrayed her, but had also remained amongst those she trusted in order to betray them as well. One had helped kidnap her, and the other had tried to murder her. And she had never suspected it of either of them until it was too late.

How many of the people here could she actually trust?

She frowned at the thought and forced herself to take careful steps around the room. It was far larger than her cell, though at the moment it merely felt better lit and warmer than her brief stay in the dungeon. But she had to get her strength up again. She only made it a couple rounds before she needed to lean on the furniture for support rather than balance, and Steve took up May’s post while May helped Sharon to bed. She was nodding off before her head even hit the pillow, Steve’s jacket wrapped around her.

*

“I had to find out that you took off in the middle of the night from Page Six!” Christine shouted into the burner phone. She had a pile of them that Wilson had dropped off and told her to hide, but this was the first time she’d used one of them. She could almost hear the king cringe over the hum of the plane and the distance between them, and she didn’t give a rat’s ass. “When you asked me to work for you, I assumed I’d be kept in the loop a little better than this, your Majesty!”

“You’re right.”

She opened her mouth to argue some more, then froze. Had he just said she was right?

And goddamnit. Did he actually sound sheepish? Who the hell agreed to work for a sheepish king?

“You’re right, and I apologize. An emergency has come up. But I think I have something that could appease you.”

She snorted. “Appease me.” As if.

“I’ve left Thor, Prince of Asgard, in charge of the day-to-day matters in my absence. I’ll call and ask if you can have an interview. I don’t think he’s done one of those before.”

She didn’t answer right away. Once she got her throat working again, her voice only made a grunting sound that she hoped sounded like agreement. No one had gotten an interview with Thor. She knew that as well as she knew the publisher’s home phone number. If she could get an interview with Thor, it would be the first anyone had ever gotten, if not the only.

She had to sit down at the thought. All the shit she’d gone through in journalism school, and now she’d be able to look at the picture of Nellie Bly next to her mirror and not feel ashamed of how little she herself had done.

“There’s another thing,” the king said. “I’d appreciate it if you could look into it.”

“Uh... uh-huh. Sure.”

“Antoine Triplett may not be dead.”

*

“We weren’t expecting you.” Sharon sat at her vanity as if it were a throne, Beth curling her hair. In the reflection, Sharon watched James and Sam. Natasha sat on the bed, May stood in the doorway. Steve was in the middle of the two groups on the loveseat; he’d brought the King and his bodyguard to her as soon as they’d arrived after giving Sharon almost no warning at all. “You know people are going to make a big deal of this, right? You’re supposed to take months to plan a visit.”

“We’re supposed to be modern,” James complained. “Besides, when did you ever stand on ceremony if you could help it?” He dropped on her freshly-made bed and sat with his elbows on his knees. Natasha glared at him, though whether it was for invading Natasha’s territory or Sharon’s, Sharon couldn’t tell. He frowned at her in the mirror. Sharon had seen enough people stare at the bruises on her cheek and neck not to know what he was doing. “How badly did they hurt you?”

“Not badly enough.”

Beth deemed Sharon’s hair to be done and turned to grab the sling. She glanced at James, hesitated, then burst, “She won’t let me put makeup on it. I’ve tried, but- Maybe you could-” She dropped her head when James looked at her and moved to Sharon’s other side, helping her into the sling. Sharon smiled softly. Beth had been her maid for years and was unafraid to stand up to her even though she was queen, but James was a different matter entirely. 

“Carters are damned stubborn fools,” James said pleasantly after a moment. He saw Sharon’s glare in the mirror and grinned. “You’re brave to try to force her to do something, but they’re like rabid chinchillas if you push them too hard.” She glared harder, and his grin widened. “The news I have can’t wait for a state visit. And I don’t trust technology until Skye gets her system set up on both sides of the pond. Not with this.”

She turned and raised an eyebrow at him. “Out with it.”

“Thor came to me and said that something has been stolen from Asgard. He called it the Tesseract. It’s like an artifact, except an immensely powerful one.” Sharon stared at him, not understanding why he seemed excited. “His people think the Tesseract is somewhere on Earth. They think someone on Earth is weaponizing it.”

She looked from him to Natasha and back again. She shrugged, cringed, and shrugged again using only one shoulder instead. “It isn’t us.”

“It isn’t us, either.” He stared at her and waited.

Her eyes widened as she began to catch on. Their enemies. “How sure are they that it’s been weaponized?”

“Thor said Heimdall reports that it or something like it being tested in one of the Eastern European countries. Thor came to me because Heimdall thought that if he was right, we could get screwed. Jane wanted to talk to Betty to work out solutions, but Betty never made it. Jane and Thor were hoping that Betty would also help them talk to me about it, since my people kept hanging up on Thor because they didn’t believe him when he said he was an Asgardian. We’ve lost days on this already.”

Sharon got to her feet, her grip firm on the chair as the ground seemed to shift. “May, get the others. I know they’re supposed to be resting, but we’ll have to settle on catnaps. Beth, I’m going to need some more food. And if somebody named Thor calls, take the damn message.” She looked to James, thinking hard enough that a crease formed between her brows. “Are you by any chance on good terms with any Axis governments or governments that were taken over by the Ten Rings? Please say yes.”

*

“You’re supposed to be in medbay.” Rhodey crossed his arms over his chest and as Tony tinkered at a table with pieces of metal. Tony’s new mechanical heart lit the table in front of him; it evidently unnerved the other mechanics enough that they were clustered together on the other side of the tent, casting curious but wary glances in Tony’s direction. Rhodey suspected, judging by their sour expressions, that they’d already gotten a dose of Tony’s acerbic wit as well. “But when I went to visit you after letting Pep know you’re alive, they tell me you’re here.”

“I’ll get better here faster than I will lying around doing nothing,” Tony griped. He grabbed the blowtorch.

Rhodey walked into the tent. “Tony. You’re supposed to rest until they can spare a plane to take us home. You’ve been through hell. You need food and rest.”

“I need to work,” Tony insisted.

Rhodey sighed. He looked around and pulled over a stool. “Fine. Let me help you, then. I _am_ a rocket scientist, you know. I’ve got a diploma to back it up and everything.”

Tony snorted. He set aside his latest creation to cool and picked up some other pieces. “Yeah, just in time for us to scrap our space program. Good job, man.”

“It still helps with the ladies. And helps me keep up with you.”

Tony was silent as he welded the new piece and set it aside with the other. “You can get me a phone. I should talk to Pep. Make sure Stane hasn’t run my business into the ground.”

“Yeah,” Rhodey said slowly. “About that...” He cleared his throat, hesitated, then pointed at the pieces of metal. “What are you making, anyway?”

He got another snort with a bonus smirk in reply. “I thought you said you could keep up.”

*

James leaned against the wall in the Belgian suite’s chief reception room. It never failed to amaze him that even though he was king, his bodyguard could restrict his movements and not allow him to enter a room. James could overrule him, of course, but it would be idiotic to neglect the advice or orders of someone he trusted to protect him. "I really don't think you need to do that, Sam."

Sam finished his search for cameras in the portrait frames and moved to check behind the curtains. "Call it habit."

"What about paranoia?" James suggested as Sam closed the curtains so no one could see in and went to run his hands underneath a table.

"Call it whatever you like, but I'm keeping you alive."

James watched as Sam continued going over the room. No inch was spared. If there was an unlocked window, water damage, a single bedbug, Sam would find it, regardless of the shadows under his eyes. James kicked himself for not having noticed them sooner. Despite Coulson, Hill, and Hand helping to guard him, Sam was the one who had been his constant companion and protector. "Maybe you should get some rest while we're here," he suggested. "Steve can guard me for a while."

Sam snorted. "I love that man, but he doesn't have any military training." Done with his inspection, he turned to face James. "Why didn't you tell the Queen that her cousin might be alive?"

James' shoulders slumped, and for a moment, he felt as tired as Sam looked. He wasn't proud of himself for not telling Sharon, and he supposed he ought to be grateful that Sam had chosen to say something in private. "I've thought about it," he admitted. "Nearly did, a couple of times."

"And?"

James sank into one of the plush seat and carefully set his bionic arm in his lap so as not to damage the armrest. "What will Sharon do if she thinks Antoine is alive?"

"Try to find him!" Sam answered emphatically. "Which is what we should have been doing ever since you found out he might be alive!"

James looked up at Sam. Did Sam really think he hadn't wanted to find Antoine? But there was so much more at stake than his friend and Sharon's cousin. Sam had to understand that. "And then?" he asked gently.

Sam frowned. If he understood yet what James was getting at, he wasn't saying it.

"If Antoine really is alive, then there are two likely reasons he hasn't come forward. Either he's decided that it would be best for no one to know he's alive, and we'd risk his safety by drawing attention to that body not being his, or they have him and are waiting to leverage his life when it best suits them. How well can Sharon do what needs to be done when his life is hanging over her head? Another possibility is that, while that wasn't Antoine in the car, he's still dead elsewhere, and we would just give Sharon and her aunt false hope and distractions that none of us can afford."

The silence stretched between them, and at length, Sam fell into the seat beside him. "Shit," he muttered.

"Yeah," James agreed. They sat there for several seconds longer in silence before James pushed himself back up. "Get some sleep, Sam. Things aren't going to get easier for a while. You'll need it."

*

Raza was losing faith in his men. It should have been a simple matter to kill everyone on the plane. They had their orders. Schmidt wanted the American king and queen dead, and Raza was going to humor the fool until their goals came into conflict. Stane had wanted Tony Stark dead. The payment from both had been handsome.

But no. Bakaar had listened to the snivelling rat, Yinsen, and spared both the doctor and the genius weapons maker. At the time, Raza had agreed that it was a brilliant move. Keep the weapons maker alive, end their reliance on Stane as a supplier. 

Raza had made the mistake of thinking his men could guard two defenseless, weak men.

Now Yinsen was dead, which meant Raza couldn’t kill him as painfully as the rat deserved, and Stark was free somewhere in the desert. In some sort of metal suit that could stop bullets and fly. 

Stark was going to suffer enough for both him and the rat. He was going to wish he had died in the plane crash. He would wish he’d never been born.

One of the men he had combing the desert sand gave a shout and held something up over his head.

Raza strode over and grabbed the object from the man’s hand. The mask. His eyes narrowed. “Gather everything you can find. Take it back to the cave.”

*

“Thank you for agreeing to this interview,” Christine said politely, setting the recorder on the table between them. Even after prepping herself to not fangirl over him on the ride over, it was still a challenge. She was sitting across from a god, for God’s sake. And a very attractive one at that, too. Dr. Jane Foster was a lucky woman. “I understand you’ve never done one before.”

Thor sat in one of the thick, lush chairs in James’ study; Dr. Foster had taken James’ seat behind the desk. She looked ridiculously small behind it, but neither she nor Thor seemed to think anything of it. “When James asked it of me, I could not say no. Besides, no one has ever asked me for one before. I’m honored.”

“He doesn’t have a phone,” Dr. Foster piped up. “And I think we move around so much that most reporters don’t know where he is until too late.” She returned to reading papers, and Christine wondered if she was really supposed to be doing that. Surely much of that was only meant for the King to see.

But right now, Christine had to focus on Thor. On Thor, and regretting that she hadn’t brought a camera or worn a more attractive suit. She could talk to King James later. “Really? No phone?”

He somehow managed to shrug his entire body while still managing to look relaxed. “It would’t do any good, anyway. Can you imagine the bill?” He grinned. “Jane tells me Verizon does not accept gold.”

Dr. Foster rolled her eyes, and Christine grinned. Foster didn’t behave the way Christine had thought an astrophysicist with three degrees would act, but Christine actually found herself liking the woman when she wasn’t worrying about Foster reading confidential royal documents. She didn’t have a stick up her ass, she didn’t go around talking about her credentials... She was the sort of astrophysicist who could go out for a beer. “So you’re familiar with Earth culture, then? It’s just, with you being from Asgard, I’d imagine it would be something of a culture shock.”

Thor smiled. “I am not as familiar as I would like to be, but I learn more about life here every day. I find it pleasant.” His smile widened. “Life on Midgard is full of adventures I would not experience in Asgard. I relish the opportunity.”

“And then you come down to get stuck ruling someone else’s country,” Christine pointed out. “King James must trust you.”

His smile softened, and Christine found herself wondering how many smiles this guy had. And Dr. Foster probably got to see them all the time. Lucky. “I am honored by his trust, and I will aim to do him and his countrymen proud. But truth be told, I am not fond of ruling. I have found that the throne can sometimes get in the way of happiness.” His eyes slid to Foster, who turned a page without seeming to have heard. “I have decided that it is better to be a good man than a good king.”

“More fun, too,” she agreed. Before he could take offense at any implication, she glanced down at her notes. “Rumor has it that you first came to Earth- Midgard- after being kicked out of Asgard. I was hoping you could shed some light on that.”

Thor’s smile disappeared, and he nodded gravely. “In my youth, I was foolhardy. I attacked the Frost Giants with some allies of mine, Sif and the Warriors Three, and nearly broke a treaty between our people. Had I broken it, we would have been thrust once more into war and untold numbers would have died. All-Father Odin sought to teach me the error of my ways, and I am grateful he did. Not only did I learn wisdom, but it is an honor to have met the people of New Mexico, and I have found that there are many good people here.”

“Not to mention Dr. Foster,” Christine pointed out.

Thor grinned as Foster’s head popped up. She made an inquisitive sound. “Yes,” he confirmed. “That has been a particular honor.”

Before Christine could ask another question, the building shook violently. Christine’s breath caught, and she instinctively grabbed for the recorder to protect it.

“What the hell?” Foster demanded. “That’s not an earthquake...”

Thor frowned. When he stood, he held a hammer in his hands, and Christine tried not to get distracted by what the weight did to his arm muscles. “Jane. Stay here.” He spun the hammer until it was only a blur, and then he was gone, a shattered window in his wake.

Christine stared after him.

“Come on.” Dr. Foster ran for the door.

“What? Where are we going?”

“To see what’s going on!”

Christine chased after her, pausing to kick off her heels so she could keep up. She was developing a new appreciation for Dr. Jane Foster.

*

Bruce had warned her when they’d pulled up to the White Palace that he might be on some sort of list, but neither of them had expected to have guns aimed at them so quickly. Almost as soon as Bruce had seen the guns pointed at them, he’d gotten nervous enough that he lost control and turned green. That had started panic amongst the guards, and now Betty found herself in Bruce’s arms as he jumped out of the car. The earth shook as he landed.

Despite being raised on military bases around the would, it took her several seconds that the dull pops she heard were actually gunfire, and his jerking was him being hit. He balled up around her, protecting her.

She thought she recognized one of the voices and pushed against Bruce’s arms. He didn’t budge, and she shouted instead. “Stop it! He’s a friend! It’s Dr. Betty Ross! Dad, it’s me! STOP SHOOTING!” It wasn’t until she was screeching that someone heard her and ordered everyone else to stop shooting. Oh, God. She definitely recognized that voice.

Only when the silence had lasted several seconds did Bruce loosen his grip, and Betty quickly slid out of his grasp and ran to stand at his back, throwing her arms out wide to block as much of him from bullets as possible. She’d had smarter plans than protecting an eight-foot-tall hulking mass with her significantly smaller body, but she was a little short on ideas at the moment.

General Ross started forward. “Betty! Get away from that thing!”

“Dad! Dad, it’s okay! I know him!”

“KNOW HIM? Betty, that’s the thing that KIDNAPPED you!”

Betty held her hands out in front of her, trying to placate him. “Dad. If he kidnapped me, why did he bring me here? He’s a friend, okay? Trust me. This is Dr. Bruce Banner. He just needs help right now. Do not shoot him.”

Something large hit the ground hard beside her, and in a flash, Bruce had grabbed Betty and jumped back. He growled as the figure straightened. She peered around his shoulder to see that everyone had their guns raised again.

“Unhand the maid, creature!”

Oh, _crap._ “Thor! It’s okay! He’s a friend.” She tried to get in front of Bruce again, but he refused to budge as he regarded Thor’s hammer with suspicion. “Would you two _stop?_ ” She spotted Jane and another woman running around the corner and strained in that direction instead. “Jane! Jane, it’s me! Get Thor to stop threatening him, would you?”

Jane drew up short and gave Thor an exasperated look that made the god drop his shoulders and lower his hammer. She put her hands on her hips.

The effect on Thor was immediate. “I apologize,” Thor said. He looked at the armed men behind him. “If this... creature is no threat to us, then we should not be a threat to him, yes?”

“His name,” Betty interjected, “is Dr. Bruce Banner. He’s here for a cure.”

Jane stepped closer. “Wait. Banner, the gamma ray scientist? He went missing years ago.”

“Found him. He saved our plane. Kept it from crashing after it started going down.” She looked to General Ross. “Please, Daddy. He isn’t a threat.”

General Ross didn’t look convinced, but a look from Thor made him nod. “We’ll be watching him.” He seemed pained to say it, but Betty would have to deal with her father later. Right now, she had to figure out a way to help Bruce.

One stray thought did occur to her, though, and she looked at Jane curiously. She gave Jane a hug as she glanced curiously at the other woman. She seemed familiar somehow... “What are you doing here?”

Jane rolled her eyes before returning to her study of Bruce. “Speaking of things we’re going to have to discuss...”

*

The desk was covered in maps and other papers. Sharon sat on one side, James on the other. As had become typical for them, their guards and other trusted people were scattered around the apartment. May was napping on a couch in Sharon’s bedroom; Clint was fast asleep on the couch in Sharon’s office. Natasha leaned against the doorway; Fitz and Simmons sat at the table in the corner with Skye, muttering about their lab and occasionally making something pop loudly and fizzle as smoke floated upward. Sam slept in a chair next to the fireplace, his feet up on the coffee table and his arms crossed. Unlike Sharon’s guards, he’d rarely had anyone to share his burden with, and once he’d been able to fall asleep without worrying about James’ safety, he slept like the dead. All of them had been careful not to bother him.

Peggy, Nick, and Steve had joined Sharon and James around the table. For now, Sharon had let someone else into the conclave. Colonel Phillips had advised Sharon’s parents in the field for years. He was an older man who had fought in the War for decades and treated Peggy with more respect and deference than he did Sharon, which solidified Sharon’s belief that she’d done the right thing by inviting him into the fold. As for the others, she knew they wouldn’t believe she was right until they saw what Phillips did with the information they gave him.

Steve leaned over the table. “And the other base was here.” He pointed to another spot on the map, the finger sure and precise.

“You’re sure?” Phillips said, his hand on his chin. He’d only returned from the Front weeks before, and his skin was still tanned and rough, his hair grayed and thinned. His posture alone suggested that after all he’d seen, the idea of a years-long conspiracy didn’t phase him at all.

“I only got a glance,”

Everyone looked at the spot he’d pointed to without hesitation and then glanced back at him.

“Nobody’s perfect,” Peggy murmured wryly.

Sharon made a face at James. “Humility. Here. Weird.” He grinned, and Sharon rolled up the map and handed it to Phillips. “Memorize the coordinates, then burn it. That map doesn’t leave this room, Colonel.”

“Majesty.” He inclined his head, but she could still see that he remembered her as a child. He hadn’t shown her any disrespect so far, though, and she was fairly certain he would carry out the orders even though they didn’t come from her aunt. If anything, Sharon’s wounds seemed to have convinced him that she was worthy of some degree respect. Phillips wasn’t the type to respect someone merely because they wore a crown. She’d been right to tell Beth not to cover up her bruises. Not to mention that covering them up would have taken time she couldn’t spare.

Colonel Phillips turned to Steve. “What we could do with an army of guys like you.”

“There’ll only ever be one,” James said firmly. Steve frowned, doubtless thinking of Erskine, and James gave him a light shove in the arm. “There was only ever one of you, pal.”

“Nick, wake Barton. It’ll help smooth over matters if he talks to his ex-wife himself.” Sharon looked at James. “Are you sure about your people?”

James nodded. “Victoria Hand is our latest security expert who’s been brought into the fold. She goes way back with them, and Hill backed her call. They’ll do what they’re asked.”

Nick talked quietly with Clint, filling him in on their latest plans, and Clint laughed loudly on the other side of the room. The sound was foreign enough after the past several days that everyone turned to stare at him. May walked out of the bedroom, her eyes still heavy with sleep and her fists ready for a fight. The only person who didn’t react was Sam, still fast asleep in his chair. “Sorry. I just- I know one of the guys in the group,” Clint explained. “This is gonna be good. Skye? Got a secure line for me?”

Skye nodded, still looking somewhat taken aback by his joviality. Sharon couldn’t say she was surprised; Barton tended to look rather dour. Nevertheless, Skye plugged a headset into her laptop for him. Her momentary distraction didn’t prevent her from pointing at the mess of papers on the table. “Once I get you guys secured, I’m digitizing all of this. It’s a digital world these days, people.”

May glared at them all. “Are we starting?”

Sharon glanced at Natasha. May could be kind of scary when she was sleep-deprived. “Still moving the pieces into place.”

May nodded and disappeared into the bedroom again.

There was a quiet knock at the door, and all of them went still. May popped her head back out, looking even more irritated than before. Natasha opened the door carefully, then opened it wide to let Beth in.

“Food,” Beth said uncomfortably as she noticed everyone staring at her. She carried a large tray in either hand, and Steve and Skye both hurried to help. Fitz groaned at another pop and fizzle from the gauntlet-looking device in front of him. Steve carried a tray to the desk, and Skye took one to the table. Beth followed Steve and handed each person their meal. May ghosted forward, took her plate, and drifted back into the bedroom. She closed the door all but a crack behind her.

Sharon looked at her plate and the drink Beth handed her in distaste. The glass was full of something green that didn’t seem entirely liquid. “Really, Beth?”

“The doctors said you need vitamins and protein.” Beth’s voice was prim. “So yes, really. The doctor ordered it, and so did Happy. And I am _not_ going to go tell Happy you turned down something he made.”

Sharon wrinkled her nose and waited for Beth to head to the corner table before nudging Steve. “This is too much for me to eat on my own. You want some? I think I can manage the bacon and oatmeal, at least...”

He eyed the green concoction and wrinkled his nose. Damn it. That meant he’d noticed how it smelled like death. “If the doctors said you need to eat that, then that’s what you need to eat.” Steve noticed the longing look Sharon was giving his hamburger and held it up in front of his face. Locking eyes with her, he took a large bite.

She made a face before inspiration struck. “I heard your serum means you have to eat more. I bet the shake... thing could help. Looks like it tastes pretty good, too.”

Steve huffed out a laugh. “No way. No way in hell. That’s all yours.”

Peggy leaned on the desk. “Sharon...”

Sharon looked mournfully at the green liquid. Feeling eyes on her, she looked back up and glared at James and Natasha. “What?”

“Nothing,” James said quickly. He looked back at the papers on his desk. “We need to go over loose ends again.”

Natasha said nothing, which got her an extra glare. The only thing that successfully distracted Sharon from chastising her friend was the kale drink. It most definitely didn’t taste good. After that, all her ire was reserved for Happy Hogan.

*

“I apologize for the imposition,” Thor said as he sat on the couch. Once again, Jane sat behind the desk, making notations on James’ papers. Thor could only hope James didn’t mind. Jane could be single-minded when it came to scientific advancement. Betty was in another room, trying to get in touch with some scientists friends abroad. Pepper was with her, doing what she could with her personal assistant experience and the sullied name of Stark Industries. Christine Everhart sat quietly nearby as if hoping no one would notice her. “I realize you would rather your King be here, but I hope not to be an inadequate substitute for the time being.”

Coulson, Hill, and Hand all looked at Jane, but at her lack of acknowledgement - Thor doubted she even knew they were there - they sat and turned their attention to Thor.

Hill took charge. “King James told us you were in charge. We’re to advise you and follow your orders.” Thor nodded, but Hill didn’t seem terribly impressed. “But you have to understand that this is unprecedented. If you order us to do something we know our king wouldn’t want...”

“We can’t shoot you,” Coulson offered. “But we could tase you and watch Supernanny.”

Hill’s eyes didn’t shift from Thor’s. “Or Top Gun.”

“Or Orange Is the New Black,” Hand nodded. She toyed with a phone in her hand, but her eyes were intent on Thor. Hill had explained in the hall that the phone emitted a frequency that would interfere with the bugs’ signals. Anyone attempting to listen in would hear only silence.

Thor smiled winsomely. “I admit I’m not fond of being tased, and I do not know if Top Gun or a discussion of colors would be better or worse.” He wasn’t sure if Top Gun was another weapon or another TV show. He’d have to ask Jane later. “But I assure you, it is my intention to oversee the country according to James’ wishes. I do not expect him to be gone long, and it is important to me that the people of Asgard and the people of Midgard continue to be on good terms with one another.”

Hill and Coulson looked at one another. Hill glanced at Hand and only spoke after Hand nodded. “Did he tell you about the spies against him?”

His smile disappeared. “He did, yes. He said I could trust the three of you and Ms. Everhart. That I am not to trust Pierce by any means.”

Coulson nodded. “We think he’s the ringleader so far, but we haven’t been able to find any proof.”

Thor hung his head. “I am troubled that his list of trusted people is so few.”

Coulson grinned. “Don’t worry. He’s with friends right now, and pretty soon, we’re going to get the bad guys rounded up and put in neat little boxes. We wouldn’t mind some assistance, though, if you’re willing.”

“Of course.” Thor nodded. “I will be happy to help. I have friends who would love a good-”

Jane made an excited sound and jumped to her feet. “Selvig!” She looked around for Betty, only to find the other three instead. She blinked at them, evidently wondering when they’d arrived, and then dismissed the subject as unimportant. “Dr. Erik Selvig. You know him?”

Coulson and Hill looked at one another, then at Hand.

“No,” Hand said flatly. “I know I’m new to the cabal, but that doesn’t mean I’m _that_ low on the totem pole. _You_ introduce her.”

Coulson looked at Hill again before turning back to Jane. “Why do you need to talk with him?”

“He’s a theoretical astrophysicist. Betty left a report on what government-funded science projects are going on. I think he might be able to help us with the Tesseract.”

Coulson paused, then got to his feet. “Fine. I’ll introduce her. But as to whether he can help...” He glanced at Jane, then at Thor. “You’ll have to decide for yourself, I guess.” He turned toward Christine. “And don’t think I haven’t noticed you there. If anything discussed here gets out, we’ll tase you instead. And watch Supernanny.”

Christine glared at him. “That show hasn’t been on the air in years!”

Coulson was supremely unflustered. “DVR was invented to preserve the classics, Everhart, and Supernanny is a classic.”

*

Even in the frenzied activity of the base, Izzy and her associates were easy to pick out. They were some of the few on base dressed in civvies. They were also armed to the teeth and obviously well-trained. Bobbi grinned widely as she made her way toward them, her grin turning mischievous when she saw Lance’s back was to her.

“I was looking for the biggest troublemakers on base,” Bobbi greeted them.

“Oh, no,” Lance said slowly. He straightened and turned, and she smiled at him. He gave a cautious nod. “Bobbi.”

“Lance.”

Idaho snorted and crossed his arms, watching.

“If it isn’t the she-devil herself.” Izzy jumped down from the back of the truck and gave Izzy a tight hug. “To what do we owe the visit?”

“I’ve actually come to hire you on behalf of Queen Sharon and King James. And before you say anything, yes, they’re willing to pay.”

Izzy laughed. “In that case. Tell me about it over a drink.” She slung an arm around Bobbi’s shoulders and led her toward the mess tent.

*

Sharon cursed as she leaned against a statue to get her breath back. “Shouldn’t have let you talk me into this,” she muttered darkly.

“You said you wanted to exercise more,” Steve reminded her, “and the doctor said that means walking. No jogging yet, and no sparring, so you don’t overextend yourself. Just walking.” He waited patiently beside the statue, and she glowered at his feet.

It was easy for him, she supposed. Both Natasha and May refused to spar with her until her shoulder was better, and they were investing the time and energy they might have spent with her with Steve instead. Archery lessons with Clint were cancelled, turned into short shooting lessons, and Clint worked with Steve on using the shield as a projectile. It rubbed her the wrong way that the people who had been teaching her how to fight were now teaching someone else. It was as if the kidnapping had shown them that she was incapable of defending herself, that she really was helpless, so they shouldn’t bother wasting their time. In her more ungracious moments, she wondered how much better he really was than she; sure he had that super-soldier serum, but this was still the man who had repeatedly stepped on her toes. And now the people who were supposed to be loyal to her and training her and turned their attentions to him instead.

She scowled. It wasn’t as if she’d wanted to be helpless. If she could dig Rumlow out of the rubble and punch his corpse in the face properly, she would. But she’d have to prove herself to them some other way. She _hated_ feeling weak.

She shuffled to a bench and dropped heavily. She didn’t want to admit it, but she could probably use a nap after this.

He sat beside her. His shield, ever-present now, rested at his side. It didn’t escape her notice that he angled it toward the woods, and her lips twisted. Did he really think a shooter was out there? Of course, she couldn’t be certain there wasn’t. “You okay?”

She nodded and leaned to rest her temple against his shoulder. He hesitated, then wrapped an arm around her to keep her warm. Despite her coat, winter was coming in. She knew the gesture was to keep her from getting sick, but she couldn’t help but wonder if he might be doing it for other reasons, too. He _had_ been treating her differently since her coronation. Or had that just been her imagination?

Ugh. She couldn’t afford to think like that right now.

No matter. He was a commoner who still wouldn’t share his hamburgers with her, and she had a kingdom to run and a war to oversee. She had to concentrate on that. No time for some stupid crush. Not that this was a crush. It was just some... silly distraction. And she didn’t have time for silly distractions. She had to anticipate Phillips betraying them and plan for what to do if and when he did.

Only when she woke to find Steve and Natasha tucking her in did she realize she’d fallen asleep.

*

Sam opened the door to the guest apartment and looked over his shoulder before moving aside. “I have to ask,” he said, just loud enough for James to hear, “are you going to kill him?”

“Do you think you could stop me if I tried?”

Sam glanced over his shoulder again, and James gave him a solemn nod. He could guess what had her upset, but he doubted she would kill him over it. Tactically, it would likely cost her the Carters’ protection, and he doubted Natasha would do anything to betray their trust.

“Give us the room, would you, Sam?”

His bodyguard looked at him like he was crazy, and James glowered at him and gave another, this time firmer, nod. Sam frowned but moved to his bedroom. James had little doubt that he would be on the other side with his ear pressed to the door until Natasha left.

Once they were alone, Natasha wandered to the table. Her movements were calm, graceful. She reminded him of some animal that acted nonchalant and attacked its prey without warning. Something elegant, he thought. Beautiful, but deadly. She picked up a paperclip and played with it for several seconds. To all intents and purposes, she didn’t seem to be aware of him at all.

He dropped into his chair. He wasn’t nervous at all, he told himself. Not an iota. Okay. Maybe a little worried. Just a little worried. Natasha was unlike any woman he’d ever met, and he didn’t anticipate meeting a woman like her in the future, either. “You can probably kill me with that.”

“Not probably.”

As calm as she sounded, they might have been discussing the weather. He looked at her, elbows on the desk. It was likely a good time to discuss what she’d come here to talk about. “You’re upset that Steve is getting close to Sharon.” Her eyes flashed, and he cautiously ventured further. “And you’re upset that Sharon is getting close to Steve.”

She glared at him. “He’s a commoner. She’s the Queen. And soon he’ll either go off to the War or he’ll rejoin you, and then where will she be?”

He frowned. He’d thought she’d been worried about being replaced. He had underestimated her. “I don’t think Steve has any intention of hurting her,” he said gently.

She turned the paperclip in her fingers and looked away. “Intention doesn’t matter.”

He leaned back in his seat and saw her eyes slide toward Sam’s door. “Yeah, he’s probably listening,” he confirmed. Her eyes slid to him next, and he shrugged. “When the War is over, we won’t need a super soldier anymore. If Steve wants to stay here... Maybe we could propose a trade? Steve for FitzSimmons. I know Coulson’s-”

“No,” Natasha said firmly.

He grinned. He hadn’t thought she’d give the two of them up. “They may have to visit anyway. Betty’s asked for their help with a scientist friend of hers. So maybe you could come instead.”

Her head jerked toward him. “Ha.”

He shrugged. “I can’t have just one bodyguard. And sometimes I think you like me.”

She turned away and leaned against the desk with a frown. “Liking has nothing to do with it. I’m loyal to the Carters.”

“I hadn’t noticed.” His voice was wry, and he half-grinned at the glare she sent him for it. Still, he didn’t dare push too hard. He got the sense she’d break him, bionic arm be damned. “Sharon knows she can’t marry Steve. She’ll put her country first. And Steve won’t allow himself to be a kept man. I don’t think Sharon would ask it of him, either.”

“She wouldn’t,” Natasha said flatly. She grabbed another paperclip and turned it between her fingers. “Would you keep a mistress?”

James blinked at her. “I’m pretty sure my mother’s ghost would rise from the ground, lecture me all night, and then murder me at dawn.”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “You wouldn’t have a mistress because you’re afraid of your dead mother?”

“I’m afraid of upsetting my mother, period. If she got pissed off enough, death wouldn’t stop her from putting me in my place.” His tone was firm, but his eyes crinkled faintly with jest. “Between my mom and Sharon, nothing frightens me more than the idea of an upset queen.” He studied her and became more serious. “I couldn’t do that to someone, leave them in limbo like that. I’ve been in limbo enough myself to want that forced on anyone else.”

She looked at his arm for several seconds as the silence stretched. At length, she straightened and tossed the paperclips onto the desk. “I’ll protect you royals with my life, but I’ll never understand you.”

James picked up the paperclips after she’d stalked out of the room and grinned. She’d sculpted them together to make a spider. It seemed to suit her, somehow. Elegant and dangerous. He turned it over in his fingers and glanced at the door, where Sam leaned against the doorframe.

Sam whistled. “You sure know how to pick ‘em, James.”

His grin widened. He focused again on his papers, his hand still playing with the spider.

*

“Hello and welcome to the lab where we don’t usually have visitors,” the brunette remarked dryly. She looked Coulson up and down. “Coulson. You find my iPod yet?”

“You don’t want that iPod,” Coulson said with a grin. “The music was horrible. You should get another iPod. Something with real music on it. James Brown or Diana Krall.”

“Then buy me an iPod so I can put my music on it. You _owe_ me, Coulson.” She leaned against the door frame, and Jane found herself getting the lookover. “And then introduce me to- whoa.” Her eyes lit up as Thor moved into her line of sight. “You’re the alien dude!”

Thor inclined his head. “It is good to see you again, Lady Darcy. We met at King James’ Welcome Home ball.”

“Oh.” Darcy leaned against the door. “Was that before or after I got plastered? They had free drinks there, you know.”

Thor’s smile said he understood completely. “I’ll wager we met afterward.”

Coulson waved a hand toward him. “Thor, Prince of Asgard. And this is Dr. Jane Foster, Astrophysicist of Earth. They’re here to talk to Dr. Selvig. Thor, Jane, this is Darcy Lewis, Dr. Selvig’s intern.”

“Political science major,” Darcy supplied, tearing her eyes away from Thor long enough to study Jane again. “So you’re an astrophysicist, huh? Pretty young. Super smart or something?”

“Uh...” Jane glanced at Coulson for some hint of how to proceed; he merely raised his eyebrows. Fat lot of good he was. “Sure, I guess.”

“Cool.” She looked at each of them in silence for several seconds before settling on Thor again. “So how’s space?”

“Space is good,” Thor answered, sounding amused.

“Cool, cool. Yeah. Seems like it would be cool.”

Coulson’s thin smile reappeared. “Darcy. Can we see Dr. Selvig? Because it sounds like you’re trying to stall us.”

Darcy grinned cheerfully. “I’ll let you in as soon as I get my iPod back, Coulson.” She looked at Jane. “He raided the doc’s stuff before we got this gig. Took all our stuff. Still hasn’t given it ba- Hey!” Coulson tried to walk inside, and Darcy hurried to block him. “Whoa. Okay, okay. The doc’s looking for his pants. He can’t remember where he left them.”

Jane stared at her. “His pants?”

She nodded. “Yeah. It actually could be worse. He used to work in his birthday suit. Now he wears underwear. Trust me. That’s a big accomplishment. It took me over eight months to achieve, and it’s a huge accomplishment.” There was a triumphant cry from inside the apartment. Darcy half-turned. “You found them?”

“Yes!”

“Where?”

“Where I left them!”

Darcy sighed, and Jane fought to suppress a grin. Had she ever heard a more put-upon sigh? “Have you put them on yet?”

“Don’t rush me!”

Darcy’s shoulders slumped. “Okay, well. He’s not in this room, so why don’t you come in and Coulson can get us some coffee.” She glared at him. “Won’t you, Coulson.”

Jane blinked at Darcy, then at Thor. It was too soon to tell, but she thought she liked this girl.

Coulson gave a put-upon sigh of his own and turned to get coffee.

Darcy closed the door on him and grinned. “We actually have a coffee maker, but I’m seriously still pissed he took my iPod. I’d just downloaded some really good stuff onto it. Anyway, come on in. Doc’ll be out in a sec.”

*

Pepper stared at Bruce. Realizing it, she quickly lowered her eyes to her teacup. She took a small sip as she listened to Betty on the phone, talking a mile a minute with some other scientists in England.

Bruce tore his eyes from Betty and gave Pepper a knowing look. After shrinking back into himself, Coulson had lent him royal guard sweats that were too large for him. He also had a pair of socks, but no one had found a spare pair of shoes in his size yet. Add to that his mussed hair, and he seemed as out of place at the White Palace as a person could be.

Meanwhile, despite her ordeal, Pepper wore a sleek dress, heels that could stab a man, and had pulled her hair back into a low, neat ponytail. She looked more put-together than more of the palace employees. They were almost as opposite as people could get.

Of course, only one of them was the elephant in the room. The occasionally green, humanoid elephant.

“So...” Pepper said slowly. “Have you been able to turn green for very long, or is this a recent development?”

Bruce’s lips spread into a self-deprecating grin. “I’ve only been turning green over the past few years. I wasn’t born with it.”

“So maybe it’s Maybelline,” Pepper joked.

He ducked his head and ran a hand through his hair to hide his smile. Before he could answer, Betty’s voice rose.

“Jemma. Jemma, wait.” She scrawled numbers on a piece of paper. “Are you sure it won’t kill him? Then let’s not try that, okay? You’re getting carried away with theories again. Person before pursuit of science. Are there any cellular biologists we can get involved?” Her pencil moved across the page again, and she nodded. “Sterns. Do you think he can come here? I’m not sure Bruce can hop the ocean, and I don’t know if we’ll find a plane willing to try and take him. Okay, great. I’ll let him know. Best wishes to James and Sharon. Hey, before I sign off, how’s Steve doing?” Betty paused, and her face went slack as she listened. “ _Really._ How fast?” She paused again and took a deep breath. “Um. Jemma. Do you think you could give him a physical and send me the data? I’d appreciate it. Talk to you later.”

She turned to them and leaned against the table. “Jemma and Leo are going to work on things from their end, and they’re going to get in touch with a scientist they know that they think can help. With luck, he’ll be here within a day. Think you can hold out until then?”

Bruce nodded and looked between her and Pepper. “I’ve waited this long for a cure. I can wait a little longer.”

Pepper noticed the way Bruce’s gaze settled on Betty’s face. She also noticed that no one said anything for far too long. “You know, with Tony back, I’m sure he’d like to meet you two. Maybe even offer you jobs.”

Betty grinned. “I kind of like the one I’ve got, actually. Except for the people trying to kill me. Maybe Bruce, though?”

Bruce snorted and shook his head. The tea rattled in its saucer, and he set it on the table with care. “I don’t think a weapons research facility is the best place for someone with my... condition.”

Betty studied him for a couple seconds and then looked to Pepper. “Anybody up for a walk outside?”

*

Antique furniture was piled up along the wall of Sharon’s sitting room, mats spread over the floor.

“I’m still not sure about this,” Steve said. He could swear James and Sam were sniggering the next mat over, but he didn’t dare take his eyes off Sharon. If there was one thing he’d come to learn about her, it was that she had no qualms about catching him unawares. As a matter of fact, now that the sling was off and she finally had permission to spar again, she seemed to take far too much pleasure in it.

“You need to learn different fighting styles,” Natasha said firmly. He frowned as he thought about how Natasha had been watching him ever since he’d rescued Sharon. She certainly hadn’t seemed to like him. Of course, she had never seemed to like him, but now, it was even worse. Was this some sort of payback? Not that there was anything to get payback about. He and Sharon would never be anything more than friends. It wasn’t as if he could ever ask Sharon out. Hell, he was terrified to touch her half the time. It was one thing when she initiated it, but him doing it? God, no.

Sharon’s grin told him she knew just what he thought about the sparring session and the possibility of touching her. He hoped to God she didn’t know his thoughts about everything else. “Yeah, Rogers. Different fighting styles.” She was relaxed, as if she’d already won.

“You fight like the childish, drunken version of Natasha and May. I’m not actually sure you have a fighting style, period.”

She gaped at the comeback before her eyes narrowed, and she moved into a fighting stance. She could dish it out, but she wasn’t so good at taking it. “Come find out if you’re right.”

“Yeah, punk,” James heckled. “Find out if you’re right.”

Natasha glared at him, her eyes crossed. “Doesn’t it strike you as odd that the people who actually know about fighting haven’t paired you against the super soldier, James?”

Steve grinned at him, and had just enough time to see Sharon move before she kicked his inner thigh. He grit his teeth and blocked her next blow before dropping to his feet, grabbing her ankle and pulling upward. He cringed as he heard her hit the mat, but he knew her too well by now to hurry and help her up. She’d just try to pull him down with her.

“Good,” Natasha said at last. “Keep it up. James. I want to see what you can do.”

“Don’t kill him,” Sam requested as James moved to the mat next to Natasha.

“In front of all these witnesses?” Natasha answered dryly. “You don’t know me at all, Wilson.”

Sharon began to push herself up, and Steve took pity on her and offered her a hand. After a moment, she accepted. He could see her struggle with whether or not to attack him and was relieved when she seemed to decide against it.

He made certain she was settled on her feet and then quickly moved back a step before she could change her mind about a sneak attack. “How’s the arm?”

“Too weak for my tastes,” she scowled. “Now stop playing so nice and give me a real workout.”

She attacked him as soon as he looked away to glare at Sam for chuckling.

Almost an hour later, he grinned as he pulled her up again. “Drunken version,” he teased.

She groaned. “How are you not even sweating yet? No, no, don’t tell me. Just know that I hate you and everything about you.” She moaned as the phone rang and limped over to it. “Saved by the bell. And not a moment too soon.” Her eyes settled on James as she listened. “Follow them. If they’re leaving the base, Colonel Phillips, it means they have a target. We have a military base near there, and if rumors of this new weaponry are true, the base will need all the help they can get. I trust you to not to let any of the insurgents escape. Taking a few alive for questioning would be nice, but I won’t be upset if you have to kill them all.”

After a moment, she hung up. “Colonel Phillips was staking out one of the enemy’s bases and saw them moving toward one of ours. I think we’d better put the mats up.”

*

“We can’t trust her,” Lance insisted. “I’m not saying she lies about everything, but she lies about _almost_ everything. Name one good thing that’s still good after she’s come into contact with it, Izzy. Just one.”

She lifted an eyebrow at him, a gentle reminder to keep it quiet. Though they were welcome on the base so long as they didn’t make trouble, they weren’t allowed to stay in the barracks and instead were sitting in a small tent that did nothing to muffle sound. That meant being careful what they said, even when they were alone. “You.”

“I am _not_ good.” Lance stabbed a finger at her. “Not anymore. I was good before. I was _great_ before. But now? I’m but a shell of a man, Izzy.”

Idaho snorted. “Shell of a man,” he repeated dramatically, clutching his heart and reaching toward the tent wall. He fell backward onto the bed, and his limbs went limp as if he were dead. For added effect, he stuck his tongue out. Izzy applauded softly and chuckled.

“Easy for you to laugh about it,” Lance sulked. “Not your heart, not your shell.”

Izzy glanced back at Idaho, her lips twisted in a grin. Lance wasn’t certain, but he could have sworn she rolled her eyes. “Bobbi’s my friend, Lance. Sorry you two fell out, but she never stopped being my friend.”

“But-” He was still trying to find the words to convince her that him working with his ex-wife might not be the best thing ever when gunfire broke out. He grabbed for his gun and checked to make sure Izzy and Idaho were ready to go as well. They each exchanged a glance, and then Lance and Idaho moved quickly to stand beside the door of the tent. Izzy moved through first, and Lance followed close behind. They’d moved in sync like this so many times now that it was as natural as breathing.

The noise was coming from the main gate, and the three of them joined the rush of soldiers and other mercenaries moving toward the noise.

Out of the corner of his eye, Lance saw a flash of blue. Odd, he could have sworn that had been a person... And there were other blue flashes, so fast he thought he was imagining it.

He fell into step beside Idaho. “Mate, do you see-”

Idaho froze, his body shone blue, and in the split second before Idaho disappeared from sight, Lance could have sworn the atoms of Idaho’s body flew outward in a quiet explosion.

Not understanding what had just happened, Lance acted on instinct alone, tackling Izzy to the ground. She cursed at him, and he rolled them behind a jeep. “What the hell are you doing?” she demanded. She looked around and frowned. The three worked together and lived together, and it took her no time at all to notice that one of them was missing. “Where’s Idaho?”

Lance looked over his shoulder at where more bodies were evaporating in blue light. Izzy gasped as she saw it, too, and he grasped her arms as he faced her. He opened his mouth to say that Idaho was gone, that Idaho had been hit, that they would never see him again, but the words wouldn’t come.

Izzy stared at him. She didn’t need him to say it. She understood. She held up her gun and palmed a spare round.

He followed her lead. “Three of us just have to go everywhere together, don’t we.”

“See you in hell, Lance.” She took several quick breaths and then jumped to her feet.

*

Tony frowned in the darkness of his room. He was almost certain he was awake, but he could still hear the gunfire from his nightmare. He turned onto his side and dragged the covers with him. This was why he should have insisted on not sleeping alone. Oh, who was he kidding? Not even he wanted to sleep with himself right now.

The gunfire didn’t stop, and he rolled over.

The noise still didn’t stop, and at long last, it occurred to Tony why. He jumped to his feet and bounded across the room. He’d smuggled in the Mach II, garbled together from leftover bits in the workshop, into his bedroom piece by piece so he could work on it at night. His doctors had told him to rest and recover, but Tony had never rested as well as when he was pushing his brain to do the impossible.

And the doctors had better be damn grateful, because he was about to save their asses.

He fumbled to put the suit on as he ran out; he already had ideas for how to make the suit sleeker and faster and something other than ugly gray, but for now he’d have to settle on making something he could get on without help. He didn’t even have JARVIS downloaded into the suit yet, which meant he was going to have to do this manually. And manually, Tony found, was a sucky way of doing things. It was hard to run and stay upright when the suit must weigh damn near fifty pounds.

Rhodey blocked his path before he got to the door and stared.

Tony met his eyes and pulled the helmet on defiantly.

“We get out of this,” Rhodey said slowly, “we’re going to talk.”

“It’s bulletproof. And cool.”

“Really? Does it have a fan in there to help with your BO? Tony. They aren’t using bullets. Just... stay behind me and don’t fall on top of me, okay?”

“Fine, fine,” Tony said in a tone that he wasn’t going to do anything Rhodey requested.

Rhodey glared at him. “You could always stay here, you know.”

Tony grinned behind the mask. “I’ve got some tests I want to run.”

*

They were losing. Bobbi had lost battles before - in this war, no one could win all the time - but as people disappeared in puffs of blue smoke around her, she knew that this wasn’t just a lost battle. This was the first loss of several, the loss that would lead to the loss of the War.

Bobbi pressed herself against a wall and waited. She could hear the invaders moving closer. The base grew quiet as more and more people were killed by the new weapons. She could hear a fight in the northwest corner, but as the seconds ticked by, fewer guns went off. It wasn’t difficult to imagine what happened to the guns’ owners.

A group of attackers moved past, and Bobbi leapt out, swinging her battle staves and striking hands and necks. they turned their attention to trying to destroy her, and Bobbi twisted and dove, letting them strike one another instead. One by one, their numbers dwindled, but she also knew that the fewer of them there were, the harder it would be to trick them into shooting each other.

She faced the final three and held her staves at the ready as they took aim. Suddenly, she found herself tackled to the ground, and when she pushed herself up, she saw that the attackers were dead on the ground.

A figure approached, dressed in thick metal pieces with what looked like small missiles perched on his shoulders. He walked slowly, as if the suit was heavy, and she had a horrible feeling in her gut about who it was. Rhodes following after him, covering his back, was a major clue.

Maybe their chances just got better.

“Lance, get off of me.”

He scrambled off and held out a hand to help her up. “Like I wanted to be on top of you at all.”

Bobbi accepted help with a rueful grin. “I’m aware.” She looked to Izzy to make a crack and noticed the strain on Izzy’s face. It took her a moment to realize that Izzy and Hunter were alone. A battle like this, she didn’t have to ask what had happened to Idaho. She frowned and turned to Rhodes as he adjusted one of the attacker’s weapons in his arms. “Rhodes. Toss us some of those guns. It’s time we kick some ass.”

He obliged, and she tucked her battle staves away before catching one and looking it over. “Past time, if you ask me.”


	7. Retaliation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Both sides try to move their pieces into place before the battle that may decide the fate of the War.

Beth picked up yet another tray of discarded dishes, most of them still laden with food, and did another sweep of the room. Clint’s coffee mug was empty; she’d have to bring some coffee in. Leo would certainly want more, too. Fury and the Duchess had eaten everything on their plates, and Beth absently gave them approving nods as she set their plates on the tray. May had managed to eat half of hers, Sam a little less. She could guess it was Steve who’d put some stacks of empty dishes on another tray; not only did the man eat like a horse, but he was good about cleaning up after himself. King James had eaten much of his, and Beth tried to be as stealthy as she could as she vanished the plate from his side. She wasn’t as comfortable with him as she was with her royals; at least she knew her royals were unlikely to get trigger-happy with her. She stopped when she got to Sharon. The plate at Sharon’s elbow was almost untouched, and she frowned at it for a moment before picking it up and setting it firmly in front of the Queen. 

Sharon looked at the food blankly as if she didn’t recognize it.

Beth waited until Sharon turned to face her and raised an eyebrow. The group had been waiting on Colonel Phillips’ response for hours now, and Beth had brought a steady stream of finger food and drinks. Sharon was the only one who had barely touched anything. Beth hadn’t said anything before, but ever since Sharon had been kidnapped, she’d eaten everything with enthusiasm except the kale shakes. And those, at least, she still finished. But now, Sharon wasn’t eating as much as she ought to be, and Beth didn’t like it at all.

Sharon finally understood. She made a face at the food and pushed the plate away. “Not hungry.”

“What about a burger?” Beth wheedled. 

Sharon hesitated, and Beth took it as affirmation. She swept Sharon’s plate from the desk. “I’ll be back with a burger for you. And you’ll eat it, or I’m telling the doctor.” She caught Clint’s eye. “Coffee, too.” He gave her a thumbs-up, and she grinned.

Before she reached the door, the phone rang, and Sharon hit the speaker button before it finished its first ring. “Colonel Phillips?”

“Speaking, Your Majesty.”

Beth froze at the weariness in the colonel’s voice. No one else in the room moved, either. They all knew what that tone meant.

“We’re looking at over 80% casualties. They’ve got some new weapon that vaporizes people. We’ve got a hundred fifty left, and some of those are injured and need to be shipped out before another attack.”

The room was utterly silent for several seconds. The military base had held over a thousand men. To have lost so many of them... To have so few left...

“But you survived,” Sharon said at last. “I’ll find a way to get the injured out of harm’s way. Did you capture any of the- Is it Rings members or Axis fighters?”

“Axis, ma’am. Agent Morse is questioning some of ‘em right now. Didn’t even wait for some of ‘em to wake up.”

“Can we hold the base, Colonel?”

“We’ll need more troops. Fresh ones. And fast.”

Sharon rubbed her temples. Beth’s heart beat harder at the thought. The War had taken its toll on the country, not just in terms of money, but in terms of life. To get more troops now... If they couldn’t move them around in the field, they’d need to come out of the already tired and nearly depleted reserves. Worse, it wouldn’t take long for word to spread about a weapon that could vaporize people, and any new troops at the base wouldn’t just hear that, they’d hear that over eight hundred of their predecessors had died. Morale at home would suffer, but it would be nothing compared to morale on the base. Beth tried to remember what she could about the base and bit her lip. They couldn’t afford to lose it. Their enemies couldn’t afford to let them keep it.

The base was going to be attacked again, and soon.

“One piece of good news, ma’am. We got ourselves a weapon of our own.”

Sharon frowned. “We managed to capture only one of their weapons?”

“No, ma’am. We got several of those. I mean Tony Stark made something in the base’s mechanical shop. Says he can make more once he gets to his lab. Make 'em better, too.”

James jumped forward. “Send him home immediately. We don’t have time to waste. Whatever he can do, I want it done. And if he has a problem with it, tell him we’re going to have a talk about how my parents’ plane was brought down.”

“You’ll have to tell him yourself, Your Majesty. He left with Colonel Rhodes as soon as the fight was over on one of the supply planes. And if I may be so bold, sir, but you aren’t my sovereign.”

Sharon smirked at James. The brevity quickly faded as she focused again on the conversation. “I’ll try and get you troops by dark, Colonel. Hold the base. I’ll look into getting you supplies as well.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Sharon hung up the phone without further ado and looked to James and Steve. “I think it’s time you send your soldier in the field, James.”

James nodded. He solemn expression turned mischievous as he studied his friend. “And he’s going to hate me for what I have in mind.”

Steve frowned at him. “I volunteered for this, James. I wanted it. I’m not going to hate you for sending me into the field. I’ve been training with Natasha, May, and Clint. I’m ready.”

James grinned and finished his thought. “But he’s going to make Janet very, very happy.”

The color drained from Steve's face.

Sharon chuckled. She wasn’t sure what James was up to, but if Steve’s expression was anything to go by, it would make up for Steve eating all those burgers in front of her. Speaking of which... She nodded at Beth, who was still frozen by the door. “I’ll take that burger now, please. The biggest Happy’s willing to make. I’m going to need it.”

*

Jane triple-checked one of the equations they’d worked out. The solution wasn’t going to deflect or negate the power of the tesseract, but they’d found the next best thing. If they were right.

“It’s going to be brilliant,” Selvig said, staring at the computations on the blackboard. Through the course of their work, he’d taken off everything but his boxers, and even those sat perilously low on one side. Jane didn’t care anymore, not with all they’d accomplished. If nakedness was what he needed for this to work, then he could wear his birthday suit any time he freaking pleased.

“Or it’s going to suck the entire planet into a black hole before we even have time to turn it off.” Like Selvig, Jane’s eyes were focused on the blackboard, alert for the smallest error. They couldn’t afford a mistake.

“Wait,” Darcy said slowly. “ _What?_ ”

*

May had her gun pressed against Sitwell’s forehead before she’d even finished closing the door to her room.

“Easy!” he said hurriedly. He held up his hands and hoped to God that May was slower at pulling the trigger than she was with aiming. “Easy. I’m here to report. You haven’t made contact, and I knew it would look suspicious if I went to you openly, and I thought-”

She lowered the gun and turned the safety back on. “I’ve been busy. What do you have?”

“That attack on the base earlier. It was a test of their weapons. Now that they know that they work, they’re planning an attack in the next couple of days. They’re making more weapons and think they'll have enough ready in the next couple days. They don’t trust me enough yet to tell me when, but they told me that it’ll be less than a week before they achieve what they’ve been working toward for decades. They start sounding crazy every time they bring it up. I think it’s gonna be bad.”

She eyed him curiously. “How did you get them to bring you into the fold? How close do you think you are to their leader?”

“I know I’m closer. They don’t suspect me because-” Sitwell cut himself off and tensed. After a moment, he cleared his throat and said, “I shot you.”

May stared at him.

“I- I was the sniper,” Sitwell said slowly. He wished May were an easier read. He didn’t think she would shoot him, but he also wasn’t willing to bet on it. He swallowed and hurried to explain. “I had to shoot you or else they would have known I wasn’t with them. I tried not to inflict too much damage, but if I’d missed all my shots-”

Her eyes narrowed, but she didn’t move. At length, she gave a long, slow nod. “Good work not killing me.”

He exhaled in relief. “Are you kidding? If I kill you, your corpse is going to kick my ass.” At May’s smirk, he glanced away. “Besides. If I weren’t doing this, I’d just be standing guard at some tourist attraction. At least I get to be useful this way.”

May nodded. “Be careful on your way back. If anyone asks, tell them you’re trying to get closer to me. You can claim you’re doing it to get information out of me. It’ll allow us to keep in better contact. Only if they ask. If I hear from anyone that you’ve been making any sort of moves on me...” She looked him up and down and said pointedly, “Let’s just say I’m not worried about your corpse kicking my ass.”

Sitwell nodded. "Understood."

May glanced out the door. When she was sure the coast was clear, she moved aside to let him out.

*

“You’re still going to make me a suit, right?” Rhodey asked yet again as they walked into Tony’s DC home. He’d asked at least twelve times since they’d gotten off the plane. Tony dropped his bags without a thought, and Rhodey paused to kick the stuff out of the way so Pepper wouldn’t trip over them later.

“For the last time, yes.” Tony stopped at the door to his lab and waited for JARVIS to run the security programs. He stepped through before the door was open all the way and took a deep breath. The lab smelled like home, and he felt at peace for the first time since- since before his dad had been killed, if he were being honest with himself. He called out to Rhodey as he headed downstairs. “One of the lesser models.”

Rhodey snorted. “Not the size of the mach, it’s how you use it. And I know more about flying than you do, civvie.”

Tony made a face. “My brain is a supercomputer. I can wipe the sky with your ass.”

“Yeah. ‘Wiping the sky with my ass’ is exactly the sort of thing I’d expect someone with a supercomputer for a brain and no piloting experience to say.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “Go get us some Burger King. I have work to do.” He paused and looked around the lab as if trying to figure out why his lab - his home - seemed wrong. Everything felt right, felt perfect, except for one small thing. “JARVIS? Where’s Pep?”

“Ms Potts is currently under protection at the White Palace after turning over evidence that Obidiah Stane ordered your death to take over Stark Industries and sold weapons to the Axis and Ten Rings, sir.”

Tony went still, barely blinking as he tried to register JARVIS’s words.

Rhodey set his hand on Tony’s shoulder. He didn’t seem as surprised by the news as Tony, and Tony suspected he knew what Rhodey hadn’t wanted to tell him back in the workshop. “You okay, man? What do you need from me?”

Tony took a deep breath. “You know, when I was over there, I found out my weapons were being used to kill the people I’d meant for them to protect. Stane might have been responsible for selling them weapons, but I’m responsible for creating them in the first place. I have to make it right, Rhodey. The country comes first. And then I’ll get Stane.” He stretched his arms. “Get me Burger King and Pepper. Not necessarily in that order.”

“I can even pay Stane a visit while I’m-” Rhodey stopped himself as he realized Tony was already a million miles away and planning his next inventions. “Fine. Pepper and Burger King. Stane can wait.”

*

“You’re going, aren’t you?”

James turned to glance at Natasha before returning to packing his bag. “Have to. I can’t leave Thor in charge of my country forever.”

She crossed her arms and moved closer. “You’re packing a duffel bag, James. Kings don’t use duffel bags; soldiers do.”

“I was a soldier before I was a king. I thought you knew that.”

She drew level with him; he suspected it was so he could see her glare. “And what happens when you die?”

He paused as he stuffed a shirt in his bag, his metal fingers curling in the fabric. He’d been surprised to find that, even with a different arm, he still seemed to remember exactly how to pack his army bag. “‘When,’ huh?” She evidently had as much confidence in him as he did. 

To hell with it. “I have an heir left.” A child heir. One he wouldn’t wish this damn job on for the world. One he’d already put under heavier protection since he’d realized how vulnerable she was. He shoved the shirt deeper into the bag and grabbed another. “They took everything from me, Natasha. I’m not going to let them get away with it. I need this.”

She snorted. “Letting them kill you is just the thing they’ll need, then. They can join other political groups in trying to twist Rikki into seeing things their way or overthrowing her. Either way, I’m sure your country will appreciate the power vacuum.”

His hand clenched in the shirt, and he forced himself to smooth it out before turning to face her. “I saw them kill my family, Natasha. Those people I served with weren’t just my friends. They were my family. And I got them killed. I had a fake identity, everything. No one knew who I was outside of the unit. I took every precaution I could. We were all supposed to be safe. We were stationed in the green zone. Nothing was supposed to happen. But because of me, someone told them where we were. We were captured, and then each of my friends were killed in front of me.” He voice broke, but now that he’d started telling her about them, he couldn’t stop. “They used to rag on me. Say they were getting cushy jobs because of me. I had to prove myself to them, and after I did, it was like we were family. And that - just _knowing_ me - got them killed. I know they were soldiers. I know they wanted to protect the country. But none of them wanted to die like that. None of them. It’s one thing to get killed in battle, another to be dragged across the ground and shot execution-style and then left to rot so everyone can see.”

He swallowed. “The worst part? The people who captured us said they’d save me for ransom. My entire unit died knowing that I’d survive because people thought I had worth and they didn’t. They weren’t worthless, and they died being told, over and over-” He drew a shaky breath. “I’ve hated myself since then. Hated fucking everything about myself. I haven’t gotten a night’s sleep without seeing their faces. I still don’t know when I’ll see someone who reminds me of one of them. Have you ever seen a body that’s been left out in the sun for days, getting picked over by birds? Because sometimes when I look at people, that’s what I see. And I deserve that. Because I failed them. And now I’m, what, supposed to sit back in safety while I send other people to die? Fail them, too? Have people who will lose their children or siblings or parents because of me _again?_ And why? Because I have more value than them?”

He turned away and shook his head. “I can’t do that, Natasha. I can’t.”

Natasha studied the carpet, her arms crossed as she listened. When she spoke, he had to hold his breath just to hear her. “In Russia, they took children and trained them to be weapons. They used us to assassinate people they deemed as threats. We all thought we were protecting the royal family, working to protect a great country. Working for the glory of Mother Russia.” She paused, choosing her words with care. “I only realized after they ordered us to kill the Tsar and his family that we had been eliminating his allies. He had daughters younger than I was. I- I didn’t think of myself as anything evil until I saw-”

She bit her lip. “I ran.” She shrugged. “This was as far as I could get before the ocean stopped me. Nick’s people found me, brought me in. Back then, Sharon was the same age as the Tsar’s third daughter. Once they had me do some missions and thought they could trust me, they let me protect her, and I have ever since. I will until the day I die.”

“My point is,” she continued carefully, “I still think about all the people I’ve killed. I still sometimes think of myself as a weapon. And sometimes I even think about going to Russia and laying waste to people who take orphans, break them and remake them into things they never wanted to be. And then I think about this place. Nick and Duchess Margaret gave me another chance. Sharon trusts me. Sometimes, I think they treat me like family. Here, I’m not just... a weapon.”

She turned to him at last; he hadn’t moved since she’d started talking. “There are a lot of people in this world, James, but you’re one of the ones that make it better by being alive. That’s what I’m trying to say.”

He swallowed again. His lips slowly tugged into a smile. “An awful lot of words to say you like me.”

She snorted and was already at the door before he’d realized she’d moved. “If you tell anyone...”

His smile widened. “Can I at least thank you first?”

She snorted again.

The next thing he knew, he was staring at a closed door.

*

“You could go with them,” Sharon said quietly as she pored over the military documents on her desk. Peggy looked over another sheaf of documents in a chair nearby.

Natasha frowned at her. “What?”

Sharon half-managed a shrug but didn’t lift her eyes from the maps. “Just... you seem to have liked having James around.”

Natasha’s eyes slid toward Peggy, but if Peggy heard, she gave no indication. Peggy never gave anything away unless she wanted it given. It was one of the things Natasha admired most about the woman, even if it could grate her nerves at times like this. “And you liked having Rogers around.”

“Touche.” Sharon glanced at her. The corners of her lips were raised in a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Though James is better company.”

Natasha rolled her eyes. “One day you’re going to have to let it go. So he didn’t want to share his burger, big deal...”

The smile turned more genuine. “I wanted that burger, damn it. Now help me find a way to send the reserves into the field without drawing anyone’s attention.”

The two returned to the papers, and an hour and a half later, the only thing that had changed was Peggy falling asleep with a file in her lap.

There was a soft knock at the door, and they looked up to find May holding the door open while Fitz and Simmons carried in boxes full of papers.

“Wonderful,” Sharon murmured. “More paperwork.”

Fitz shook his head and held up a sheet of paper, holding it proudly inches from her nose. “Projects. Our greatest unpublished hits.”

“Which means no one knows about them but us,” Simmons said helpfully. “Since we still aren’t sure whom to trust.”

“This one can blast a hole through the earth,” Fitz announced, pulling out another piece of paper. Realizing how bad that had sounded, he held his fingers close together. “Very small one. But it can make holes in other things, is my point. And we’ve got some camo-tech, too, for if we can get in their base. But that one’s not as fun.”

Simmons made a face but still looked faintly smug. Sharon could guess who had come up with the camo-tech. “We thought they might help. Especially the dangerous ones. So long as they’re destroyed when the War is over. One reason we didn’t publish them was because so many of them are too dangerous for the general public. We were hoping you’d agree to destroy them after.”

“If everything works out how I want, we won’t have need of them after the War.” Sharon slowly pulled the paper about the device to make holes toward her. “Nick is going to love this.” She read one of the sheets and lifted a brow. “Powdered corrosive to put under your nail? Really? Interesting... I don’t think we could have a fleet of flying men, but maybe one set of wings? Two?” She set the paper back in the box. “Make as many as you can. Bill me. May, talk with Nick and help them decide which will take priority.”

May nodded and held the door open for the two scientists. “I’ll call Barton to cover me, and then we’ll visit Fury.”

Sharon sighed when the door closed behind them and set her pen down. “Natasha...”

“Find a way to make copies of the designs in case we need them after the War?”

Sharon wouldn’t meet her eyes as she gave a slow nod. “What I wouldn’t give to live in an ideal world.” She picked up her pen and got back to work.

*

“We can effectively teleport now,” Jane said, seeming surprisingly unenthused as she walked backwards in front of them. “People, things, armies.”

James, his eyes still red from the flight, blinked at her on the last word. “Armies.”

She nodded. “I’m still trying to figure out how to negate the energy from the Tesseract. Betty hasn’t been able to figure it out, either, but she’s been dealing with other things, too. Thor knows some about it, but he’s not an expert, and we’re having translation issues. For people who speak a variant of English, we’re having a _lot_ of translation issues. It’s like trying to find what to call a hedgehog when both cultures have different scientific and common names for it.”

James rubbed his temples. “I... am very confused right now.”

“Told you to sleep on the plane.” Despite the long flight, Sam sounded cheerful. James almost regretted making sure Sam got so much sleep while abroad. 

“It’s going to get so, so much worse,” Jane told him. “There’s a scientist named Bruce Banner who can into some hulking... thing when his pulse spikes enough. Betty’s trying to help him.”

James nodded. “She’s been talking with Fitz and Simmons about it.”

“Oh!” Jane managed a weak grin. “Well, then. If you’re not alarmed about it, I guess it’s not worth being alarmed about... Bruce is a nice guy, at least. For someone that can turn into a hulking green guy. What else has been going on that I should tell you... Pepper left to help Tony Stark with suits...”

At that, James frowned. “He’s stateside, then. Good. I’ll talk to him in the morning.”

Something in his tone made Jane draw back. “Right. Well... you know. We can teleport now, but I guess a guy in a metal suit takes precedence. Although Stark’s energy source is fascinating. Rhodey told Betty a little when he came to pick up Pepper. Said it functions like a heart and is self-sustaining? Is that right? If Tony lets us, we could use that to power the teleportation devices. Think you could have a word with him about it?”

Sam cleared his throat, and Jane blinked at them. It took her several moments to notice how tired James was.

“Right. I’ll talk to him, then.” As they walked past her, she called after them, “Did you know you can reroute major nationwide highways with mold? You should look into it. The Interstate system could use it. Night!”

*

“They call themselves Hydra,” Bobbi said. Except for Colonel Phillips, Lance, and Izzy, she was alone with the Queen on the secure line. “They’re really big on the cut off one head, two will grow back.”

Sharon’s voice had a faintly tinny quality due to the poor connection. “Then we’ll burn their entire body until it’s nothing but ash. Did you get the shipment?”

“I asked for soldiers, not toys,” Phillips grunted.

“If it makes you feel any better, almost all of those toys can be used to kill people. I recommend reading the instructions very, very carefully.”

Lance grabbed one of the packages as soon as he heard the words “kill people.” Phillips grabbed it away from him, and he and Bobbi both gave Lance a death glare.

“Toys aren’t going to matter much without people to use them, Majesty.”

There was a lengthy pause on the other end of the line before Sharon responded, “That’s just tough shit, Colonel.” They could hear her draw a long breath as they glanced at each other. “We’re maxed out. I’m looking into loopholes, but this War has been going on so damn long that I could draft everyone in the country and we still wouldn’t have enough people. So we’re going to have to use what we have. Add to that the fact that we have traitors almost everywhere who have been leaking classified information, and that takes us to a whole new level of screwed.”

“Should queens really talk like that?” Lance whispered. Izzy kicked his boot.

On the other end of the line, Bobbi heard a familiar chuckle and wondered what she’d done to end up working with both of her exes at once. She wondered who else was listening in on the Queen’s side.

“I’m the Queen,” Sharon said frostily. “So I will talk however I damn well please. I’m aware of how bad the situation is. I’ll try to send you more help, but don’t count on it.”

Even though the queen wasn’t around to see it, Phillips straightened his shoulders and snapped a salute. “Yes, ma’am.”

Bobbi took the opportunity to jump in. “This attack was just a weapons test. They haven’t been able to mass-produce the weapons They only have a couple hundred, tops, and now we have about a quarter of those. Schneider says there’s a problem with the energy source being unstable or something. Said a scientist named von Strucker would know more. They’ll have to make new guns to make up for the ones we took off their soldiers, and they’ll also try to have more in case Stark shows up again. We’ve got a couple days, maybe a week.”

Sharon’s tone was worrisomely absent. “Until then, they have other tricks we need to consider. Anything else?”

“We’re screwed and doing the best we can,” Phillips summarized. “I got that right?”

“That’s why you’re a colonel, Colonel.” Her voice was darkly cheerful. “Morse. Is Schneider German?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Sharon didn’t respond right away. “When I was kidnapped, the person in charge had a German accent. He’s already given you the name von Strucker. See what else he’s willing to give up. Every bit of anything he knows until he has no more secrets left. You can do that, can’t you?”

“No problem. Ma’am.”

“And find out what the Axis is doing testing their weapons in the Middle East. If they’re going behind the Rings’ back to do it, we need to know. They may be allied together, but it won’t hurt to tear that partnership to pieces.”

“Understood, ma’am.”

“Good. Report back when you’ve got more. I’ll do the same. Colonel Phillips, in regards to our earlier conversation, while I haven't been able to find anyone for you on this end, King James is putting his piece on the board. Take care of him. Until next time, good luck."

Bobbi pursed her lips as the Queen hung up. Good luck. Right. The base had managed to hold up against superior weaponry and lost most of their soldiers. The Axis wouldn’t tolerate another defeat at the base, and when better to crush them than now?

She met Phillips’ eyes. He knew what they were up against, too, then. Good. At least she was going to die with a competent Colonel at the helm.

Izzy got to her feet and looked inside the box. “We’d better start learning how to use these. Who wants what?”

*

"Okay if I leave these here?" Without waiting for a response, Skye dropped her bags in the middle of Coulson's office and threw herself onto the couch. Her tablet never left her hands, and as soon as she was situated on the couch, she turned it on and started pressing buttons. "You wouldn't believe the day I had. King James made me and Steve fly in separately because he was worried his plane would get shot down and we'd all die, but it wasn't like they could put out a press release saying King James was on one plane and not the other. I spent the whole time terrified while Steve ate everything on the plane. By the time I got hungry, there were two peanut packets left, and they’d expired in, like, the nineties. That guy eats like an elephant now. Like a huge elephant in need of an intervention."

Coulson's pen remained unmoving over the report he'd been reading. "Come on in, Skye," he said wryly. "Make yourself at home."

"What?" She lifted her head, decided whatever he was talking about wasn't important, and turned her attention back to her tablet. She’d set up a chatroom for herself, Jemma, and Leo, and she wanted to check in. "I've got them set up on the other side of the pond. Fitz and Simmons helped me."

"Fitz and Simmons?" Coulson brightened. "Did they say anything about-"

"Natasha told me to tell you no, even if you so much as mentioned their names. And Natasha is scary. Maybe scarier than Melinda May. One of the Carters’ bodyguards, Grant Ward was hitting on me, right, and-"

Coulson frowned. "Wait. Someone was hitting on you?"

"Yeah." She lifted the tablet enough that she could look at him beneath it. "Guys do that, Coulson. They hit on me."

He shifted uncomfortably. "So what happened with Grant Ward?"

"She beat the crap out of him. I was talking to Beth, Sharon's maid, and she was talking to the people who had to clean up the room, and they said there was blood everywhere. Maybe even some brain matter, but she thinks they might have been making that part up."

Coulson relaxed faintly. "So Grant Ward has been taken care of."

"Very, very taken care of," Skye confirmed. She sent off a message to Leo and Jemma that she’d arrived and closed her tablet. "Anyway, like I was saying. I got it worked out. Here." She strained her arms for her bag. "Hold on." She shimmied closer to the bags and reached again.

"Why don't you just get up, Skye?"

"I don't need to get up, Coulson."

Coulson sighed and watched as Skye fell off the couch and quickly hopped to her feet. "Am I supposed to pretend I didn't see that?" he asked as she dug in one of the bags.

"See what?" She pulled out a phone and sat on the couch, keying codes into both the tablet and the phone. Done, she tossed him the phone. "There's a retinal scan in the camera, but you have to get into the phone first. Keep your thumb on the home button. Simmons and Fitz made it so it'll scan your DNA. Even sweat will do. It might get a little hot for a second, since it's your first time."

Coulson set his thumb on the home button and looked Skye calmly. She thought he couldn’t handle a little heat, huh? He’d show her.

She waited as the button started to warm up and Coulson’s lips started to thin. Finally, he tore his hand off and shook it. “Stings like a bitch, right?”

He grunted. “So did you enjoy your trip? Hill’s missed you. She wouldn’t say it, but I can tell.”

“Sure you can.” She pushed in some more key codes and nodded. “Look into the camera for your retinal scan. It definitely wasn’t boring over there, I’ll say that. The Queen got kidnapped, the Duchess nearly got shot. Steve helped storm a castle to rescue the Queen, by the way. Which was kind of awesome. Clint almost taught me how to juggle, but I was so bad at it that he started playing tricks on me instead.”

Coulson stared intently at the camera. “Should I try to recruit Clint, too? Who is Clint, anyway?”

“Clint Barton. One of the Queen’s bodyguards.”

“On duty when she got kidnapped?”

“Nope. On the team that rescued her, though.”

He grinned. “Maybe I’ll try to recruit him, then. So Steve came with you?”

“Yep. But James told him to go straight to another appointment.” She gave him a nod as the program finished and tapped some more on her tablet. “You’re all done. Anyone else who touches that phone shouldn’t be able to use it.”

“Unless they figure out what they can do with my thumb and my cornea,” he joked.

“Don’t mention it to them,” she said firmly. “And the home button will measure heat, and the retinal scan can recognize whether the rest of your face is there.”

“Sounds advanced.”

“It is. I told you Jemma and Leo helped me out.” She turned on the couch and made herself comfortable.

“What’s Steve’s appointment?”

She shrugged. “The King wanted him to get an outfit.”

Coulson frowned. “An outfit. From whom?”

“I don’t know. Some designer lady?”

Coulson chuckled. “Janet van Dyne?”

“Yeah.” Skye paused to send Jemma and Leo a note about American beers. After listening to multiple arguments from the pair of them and telling herself not to get involved, she’d gotten sucked into the debate. And _someone_ had to stick up for the good old U S of A. “Wait. Should I know her? Did I miss something?"

Coulson pulled on his coat, and Skye started to get a bad feeling. “Come on,” he told her as he stepped over her luggage. “You’ll have to meet her to understand. Is Steve still with her?”

“Should be. We just got in, and his Majesty told him to go straight there.” It might have been petty of her, but she forced Coulson to wait while she closed her tablet and ever-so-slowly sat up. “I _just_ got to relax. You know that, right?”

He smiled thinly in a way that suggested he knew exactly what she was doing. “If I recall, you have a room of your own where you can do that. You can go there after we see Steve with Jan.”

Skye groaned and forced herself up. Thankfully, Coulson hadn’t demanded she follow him with enthusiasm, because there was no way in hell she doing that. “What’s the deal with this person, anyway?”

“Janet van Dyne is a designer. The Queen wore her clothes almost exclusively, which meant the King did, too. The Palace Guard’s uniforms? Her design. Anything from a sundress to military fatigues, she can do it. She has an eye for it.” He caught her watching him and frowned. “What?”

“Do you have a crush on this woman?”

Coulson snorted. “No. There’s a cellist in- No. Jan’s fun, that’s all. And she’s especially fun because she and Steve clash so much. She’s threatened to dress him for years now, and he’s always said no. He can sketch or paint anything, but his attire tends to be...”

“Bland,” Skye finished, understanding perfectly. “He has a lot of plaid shirts for somebody in his twenties. And he tucks them in. And I don’t have proof, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he starches his collars. I don’t even know what that means, but I’ll bet he does it.”

He nodded. “Exactly. Jan hates it. And Steve hates other people dressing him. It’s gotten... heated a couple of times.” Coulson, done dragging her through hall after hall, set his hand on a doorknob. “Ready?” Without waiting for an answer, he threw open the door, and both of them gaped.

In the middle of the room, surrounded by mirrors and lights, was a pedestal. Steve stood squarely on top of it, and they hadn’t had a chance to prepare themselves for how majestic he looked, standing straight with his shield at his side. As their eyes adjusted to the light, and the majesty quickly faded as they paid more attention to the details. His suit was made of blue spandex with red and white bars running down his midriff. Candy-apple red boots came nearly to his knees before flopping over like pirates’ boots. He looked up as they entered, and his face instantly turned beet red.

“Why, Steven Grant Rogers,” Skye drawled, coming closer and looking at him more closely. “Are- Are those _booty shorts?_ ”

Steve swallowed thickly, and she quickly held up her tablet to take a picture.

Coulson cleared his throat. “Spandex, Jan?”

The petite woman sitting at Steve’s feet, pins sticking out of her mouth and her short black hair faintly disarrayed, turned to face him. “It’s necessary for measurements,” she said with a wink that suggested it was nothing of the kind. Skye had to wonder how bad Jan’s fights with Steve had been if she was getting revenge with spandex.

“I really don’t think it is,” Steve muttered uncomfortably. “Skye, what are you- Are you taking pictures?”

“No,” Skye said innocently, keying instructions into her tablet. “I already took them. Now I’m sending them to everyone I know.”

“Skye!”

“Relax!” Skye grinned. “I just sent them to Jemma and Leo.”

“Don’t send-”

The door opened again, and Christine Everhart swept in. “King James sent me to get an inter- whoa.” Her eyes widened as she saw Steve, and Steve sighed and focused on the ground, his expression one of abject misery.

“Oh, fine, you big baby,” Jan chastised. “Go get your regular clothes and I’ll have a uniform for you ASAP. Wilson called and said James wants you to talk to Dr. Foster when you’re done here. She has something you’ll need for the battle.” When Steve took too long to move, she shoved a finger into the back of his knee. “Go, you.”

Coulson looked to Christine, whose jaw was still hanging open as she watched Steve disappear into a dressing room. “I know, right? God bless America.”

*

Ward had lost track of how many handstand push-ups he’d done, but he did another anyway. There was little else to do in the tiny Wakefield cell. He supposed he ought to thank Romanoff. She’d intended to take him out of commission, and instead gave him nothing to do but heal, eat, sleep, and get stronger. He wouldn’t be so slow to attack her next time. He’d replayed their encounter in the alley over and over in his head and knew now that the problem was in giving Romanoff leeway. And he wasn’t going to do it ever again.

Thinking about the Russian bitch made his blood boil. She wasn’t the only person that occupied his thoughts, though. At least when he thought about Skye, his thoughts were more pleasant. She was an outsider, like he was. She’d made herself from nothing, like he had. She wasn’t loyal to the nobility - she’d been forced to work with them to stay out of prison. Given another week or two, he could have brought her into the fold.

It couldn’t hurt to have a pretty Hydra agent around.

But no, Romanoff had ruined it. Ruined his chance with Skye, ruined his chance to serve Hydra by spying on the Queen’s friends. She’d ruined everything. He couldn’t wait until he had his hands around her throat.

He heard shots and rolled across the cell, effecting a fighter’s stance as soon as he was on his feet again.

He didn’t recognize the person who stepped into sight. Clad all in black, with straps crossing his chest... Ward knew several Hydra agents who dressed like that. But none of those agents wore a mask with something that looked vaguely like a skull spray-painted on.

“You ready to go or what?” the man asked. As soon as he heard the man’s voice, Ward’s eyes lit up in recognition. Rumlow.

“Damn straight I’m ready.” He waited while Rumlow opened the cell. “How many are left?”

“I only killed two. Figured you’d want some fun on your way out.”

Ward grinned. “You have no idea.”

“And then we go after that bitch whore of a queen. Time table got moved up.”

Ward’s grin widened, and he waved a hand at his own face. “Is she the one who did that to you? The girl who’s been training with a carny and a couple of chicks?”

Rumlow growled. “I was distracted and she got her hands on a torch. I should have ripped her arm from her socket.”

“Should have killed her sooner,” Ward agreed. He checked to make sure the safety on his gun was turned off. “Don’t worry. I’ll take out Romanoff, and that’ll give you plenty of time to deal with the Queen.”

Rumlow gave a low, throaty chuckle.

Together, they headed for the exit. Neither of them were in any particular hurry; the longer they took to leave, the more law enforcement loyal to the Queen they could kill. As they left, Ward decided he’d put the word out not to kill Skye. All it would take to convince her to join him was a bit of time, and the odds were in his favor today.

*

Pepper wasn’t sure when she’d started to feel more at home at Tony’s place than she had at her own. Come to think of it, she suspected it was the night four months into the job when she hadn’t had time to go to her place and had slept in one of the guest bedrooms. She’d since overtaken it as a home away from home. After all, JARVIS hadn’t had a problem with it, and if Tony had ever noticed, he’d never said anything.

As nice as it was to finally be home, though, to finally be _safe,_ she had to admit that it was horribly, terribly boring. She had orders to stay where it was secure, which meant staying at the mansion, and as soon as Tony had been tasked with building his new battle suit, he hadn’t been interested in leaving his lab for anything but quick runs upstairs for food. Even then, he generally buzzed Pepper to bring him something. It was one of the few things that broke the monotony.

She sighed and set aside the papers on treason and the illegal arms trade she’d had JARVIS print out for her to study. She’d wanted to be ready in case the government held Tony or Stark Industries responsible for Stane’s weapons deals, but she couldn’t concentrate. She’d walk around a bit and went back to reading.

In the kitchen, she found two of the cabinets open and a box of pizza on the counter. The two slices had been left behind, most likely for her - Tony’s way of being thoughtful. Forgetting to tell her about the pizza until the slices were cold and stiff was Tony’s way of being Tony.

She shoved the pizza box into the fridge and headed down to the lab. If nothing else, it would be good to talk to someone other than JARVIS for a couple minutes. 

When she got to the lab, though, she stared through the glass. “JARVIS. Open up!”

“Yes, Ms. Potts.”

As soon as the door opened, Pepper shoved her way inside. “What are you _doing?_ ” she demanded.

Tony hung in mid-air, suspended by mechanical arms that looked like they were trying to tear pieces of his new battle suit off of him. “Pep!” he greeted her. “Let’s be honest. This isn’t the worst thing you’ve caught me doing.”

Rhodey, suspended upside down nearby as more mechanical arms tried to prise parts of another suit from his arm, twisted to look at Pepper. “Help.”

Tony snorted. “Thought you could handle it, Rhodey.”

“I’m _upside down,_ Tony. And I think your damn robot’s about to kill me.”

“Felix, don’t kill Rhodey. We like Rhodey.” Considering the matter resolved despite Rhodey’s sputtering, Tony turned back to Pepper. “Settle an argument I’m having with JARVIS, Pep. Hotrod red. Too flashy?”

Pepper stared at them and gasped in disbelief, “You two are _adults._ ”

*

Jemma burst through the door of Sharon’s study so fast that Natasha had a gun aimed at her head before she could recognize her. Jemma ducked and held up her hands. “It’s me! It’s just me!”

“Don’t do that!” Natasha snapped, immediately lowering her weapon.

Clint stuck his head into the room. “Nat, I let her in. And stop almost shooting people. Do or don’t, there is no almost.”

Jemma glared at him in indignation. “ _Don’t,_ ” she said emphatically. “When it comes to shooting me, the word is ‘Don’t.’ Don’t shoot me.” She glared briefly at Natasha before remembering the Queen was there and looking sheepish. “Sorry, your Majesty. I just thought you ought to look at this immediately. Skye sent it to me.”

Sharon straightened, worried, and held her hand out for the tablet in Jemma’s hand. “Is it bad?”

“Only if you’re Steve Rogers, ma’am.” She handed over the tablet.

Sharon stared down at the image for several seconds, and a small, wicked smile appeared that quickly gave way to an evil chuckle and then full-out laughter. She looked up at Natasha and held up the tablet for Natasha to see. “Oh, God. Oh, God. Natasha, look at this. They put him in spandex. Jemma, send this to me _immediately._ I want a copy. Hell, I want it framed.” She chuckled again and brushed a tear from her eye as she handed the tablet back. “I’m going to bring this up to him _so much._ ”

“I thought you’d like that.” Despite how cowed Jemma had been before, she now sounded rather smug.

“Love it,” Sharon said firmly. She looked between Jemma and Natasha for a moment. “Simmons. We were just discussing sending Duchess Margaret to another location to visit some friends. Do you think you and Fitz would be willing to accompany her?”

Jemma’s eyes brightened. She hugged the tablet to her chest. “Sure! Did you know Duchess Margaret was visiting a troop once when they were attacked, and she organized the retreat right then and there even though she wasn’t in charge, and laid cover fire herself, and got everyone out alive with no further casualties?”

“I remember,” Sharon said, her voice dry. “She ended up doubling around them and taking the regiment prisoner. The Fuhrer sent my grandparents a complaint about how they raised their children.”

Jemma smiled. “I love that story, though. Do you think she’d- I mean, do you think she might tell it to us?”

Sharon raised an eyebrow. “I don’t see why not. Tell Fitz to be ready to leave in an hour. I want Peggy settled by nightfall. Angela Cartinelli, Jacques Dernier, James Montgomery Falsworth, and Jim Morita will be accompanying you as well.”

Jemma gaped at her. A West End star and three legendary soldiers from the early days of the War. She and Fitz were going to rub elbows with legends. Best of all, Falsworth was English and might side with her against Fitz in the Beer Debate. “Oh my God. Are you- are you serious?”

“Simmons, I’m hardly going to joke about this, am I? You and Fitz are tremendous assets to this country. It isn’t just my sworn duty to keep the two of you as safe as possible, I’d be an idiot if I didn’t.”

Jemma, despite her determination to seem unimpressed by the flattery, had to duck her head to hide her smile. She glanced at Natasha out of the corner of her eye. “You know, Fitz has been working on something that you might like. He only got the idea recently, so he didn’t put it in with the other designs. You’d have to get close to use it, but-”

Before she could explain more, there was a knock at the door. Clint, his voice muffled by the door, called, “Don’t shoot, Nat! It’s Fury!”

Natasha rubbed her temples and murmured darkly in Russian.

Fury came in, and Jemma quickly moved to the side. She might be a lowly scientist - granted, a brilliant one that even the Queen thought was a “tremendous asset” - but she was no spymaster. She turned to continue explaining Fitz’s “Widow Sting” - they were going to have an argument about that name, she just knew it - to Natasha, but found that Natasha was concentrating on Nick instead.

Once the door was closed firmly behind him, Fury jerked a thumb at it. “Do I want to know what that guy’s problem is?”

“Clint being Clint,” Sharon told him. “Have a seat, Nick. You’ve heard that I’m sending Peggy away.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He made himself comfortable in one of the seats. Fury had a knack at looking like he owned whatever place he walked into. “I’m all packed. Figured-”

“You’re not going.”

Fury’s eye widened. “Ma’am?”

“You’re not going. I need you to do something else for me. James contacted me to tell me that Thor will be dropping some things off soon. I need you visit some people.”

“You want me to _visit_ people? You’re sending me out on some diplomatic bullshit while the Duchess-”

“The Duchess,” Sharon interrupted, her voice frosty, “is going to be fine on her own. I’ve seen to it.”

“Having her tailed by a bunch of old guys isn’t-”

“Nick. Shut up.” She folded a piece of paper and tossed it across the desk. 

He groused and unfolded the paper. After several seconds of silence, he looked back up. “Half these people would kill me on sight.”

“And you’re so old you’ll never find a way to keep yourself safe,” she mocked. “I already talked to Shuri at the Coronation. She’ll help you. Just call her to establish a time and place.”

He folded the paper again and tucked it away in his coat. “I liked you more when you were young and sweet. Why don’t you send Romanoff or Barton?”

“Russian,” Sharon reminded him. Several of the names on the list wouldn’t appreciate working with a Russian, no matter how formerly the person might have been Russian. “And Barton.” She didn’t seem to think that needed more explanation.

Nick studied his hands. “You know, usually, I know what you’re up to.”

“Usually,” she said casually, “you know what everyone’s up to.”

He scratched under his eyepatch. “So I have to ask, your Majesty. Do _you_ know what you’re up to?”

She smiled thinly. “I’d better, hadn’t I.” There was a loud crash of thunder so close by that Jemma squeaked before she could stop herself. It was somewhat comforting that everyone else in the room jumped as well. “That’s Thor,” Sharon murmured, a hand pressed to her heart as she tried to relax. “Nick, track him down. You need to start ASAP. Natasha, help Nick find Thor. You know what to do after. Send Clint in to guard me while you’re away, and tell one of the aides that I want to see Ellis about his latest draft.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Natasha said dryly. Judging by the languid way she moved from the desk, she wasn’t in any hurry to follow Sharon’s orders. 

Sharon dropped her pen and turned in her chair to stare at her. “Was that sass? Did you sass me just now?”

Natasha met Nick’s eyes before rolling her own. “No, your Majesty. I would never dare.” She turned toward Sharon’s bedroom as Nick chuckled. “But I’m waking May up so she can cover for me. Clint stays on the door.” Now that Natasha had changed Sharon’s orders to suit both of them, she moved more quickly.

Sharon shuddered. “Goody. A sleep-deprived May again. She’s so much less scary than the fully-rested May, don’t you think?” She sighed and then blinked at Jemma as if just having remembered Jemma was there. “You need to go pack, don’t you?”

“Yes, ma’am.” And even though she’d become accustomed to the palace, even being in the Queen’s apartments while Sharon was present, Jemma was still her mother’s daughter - she bobbed a quick curtsy on her way to the door.

“Simmons?”

Jemma spun on her heel so quickly she nearly fell. “Hmm? I mean, yes, ma’am?”

“Tell Skye that I appreciated the picture.” Sharon paused and slowly grinned. “And have her thank Steve for me, too.”

*

A vein in Stane’s jaw thumped with vigor. The vein had been getting exercise ever since the royal authorities had shown up to arrest him in the middle of a business meeting. They’d announced to everyone there, and then announced again during a press conference, that Stane had been arrested on grounds of treason and knowingly selling weapons to America’s enemies. The news had dominated the 24-hour news cycle. Stark Industries stock had tanked. Stane’s lawyer had visited to tell him that the board was talking about dropping him from the company. _That_ really got to him. He knew those people. He knew their kids. He knew their drug habits and their mistresses and which bank accounts they used to embezzle. And in their world, they stood by each other. Money was protection. Money was power. Juries could always be bought. There was no crime the outrageously wealthy couldn’t get away with.

But no, they were going to turn on him. That was what a lost cause they considered him. That’s how much evidence the Crown had against him. That was how hard the Crown was going to go after him, so much so that the company he had worked so hard to take over was going to cut him loose.

So here he sat, in a room with white walls and stainless steel furniture nailed into the floor, surrounding by the scum of humanity.

And he knew just who was responsible. Pepper Potts, with her red hair and those goddamn ridiculous high heels. He’d known she was a competent personal assistant, but who the hell ever thought a personal assistant was anything more than a glorified secretary? She should have minded her own damn business and alphabetized Stark’s files. But no. She’d had to go and get herself noticed.

Well. Now she had Stane’s attention. When he got out of here...

A man slid into the seat across from him, his plastic tray loaded with mashed potatoes. Stane glared at him. They were not equals; no one in this godforsaken place was worthy of sitting across from him.

“In the desert, there are tales of a metal suit that can fly, created by a man that many want dead, all in the name of America. Let us assume the story is true, and a mutual friend of ours has found this flying suit and wishes to see it fly and breathe fire again. Can you make this friend’s wish come true?”

Stane didn’t twitch as he listened. So Tony was alive? Figured the piss-ant would figure out a way to survive a plane crash and the Rings. What sort of flying suit had Tony created in some godforsaken cave? Other than Tony himself, Stane was the one who understood his creations best. He was the one who read the designs before selling them off, after all.

He could figure it out. He knew just which people to go to for help, too. And he could pick up some other items when he talked to them; as grateful as he might be for getting out of prison, he was sick and tired of Raza not realizing who was truly running the show around here.

Stane leaned forward. He didn’t belong in prison, he didn’t belong with this filth. He couldn’t take his revenge on Potts from here. He couldn’t become the great man he was meant to be in this hellhole. “Get me out of here and I’ll do more than make it fly and breathe fire.”

*

“How the hell are they all dead?” Bobbi demanded, twirling her battle staves as she paced the floor.

“People do that,” Phillips reminded her from where he hunched over his desk. She’d been pacing and berating herself ever since they’d finished their communication with the Queen earlier that day. After telling her that all of their prisoners were dead, the Queen had gone quiet - the sort of quiet that was dangerous in a monarch - and had told them to expect someone to stop by later that day. She had signed off without saying anything more, and now he, Bobbi, Lance, and Izzy were holed up in Phillips tent, trying not to seem as worried as they were over the Queen’s message.

“I hate to sound like I’m agreeing with my ex, but most people don’t die at the same time in a big group,” Lance offered. He was the only person lying on the bed. Most of his focus was on figuring out the latest crossword puzzle in an attempt to distract himself from everything that had gone wrong. He continued chewing on his pencil even as Izzy kicked his feet from her chair. Teasing him and concentrating on destroying Hydra were the only things that seemed to invigorate her ever since Idaho had died.

“Never heard of a cult before?” Phillips shook his head. “Kids these days.”

“Oi!” Lance dropped the puzzle. “Can it, old man!”

Under ordinary circumstances, Phillips would have laughed at Lance’s indignation, but he’d been writing letters to soldiers’ next of kin all day. He managed a gruff chuckle and returned to his work. How was it he got to grow old and so many of these kids never got the chance? Phillips wasn’t a lucky man. He wasn’t the quickest. He wasn’t the smartest. He wasn’t the best. He did his job and tried to protect his country and keep his soldiers alive. He still had a hundred letters to sign. No, Phillips wasn’t a lucky man. 

“I should have _seen_ it,” Bobbi continued, ignoring them as best she could. “How did I not see that they had poison on them?”

“Because you’re not psychic,” Phillips said impatiently. He set his pen on his desk. “You didn’t see it because you were thinking of other things, too, and no one can handle everything. I’ve lost men before, Morse. Women, too. Some stuff you see coming, some you don’t. At the end of the day, they’re still dead. You think kicking yourself is gonna bring them back to life? No. They’re still dead. And now you know to knock their teeth out when you catch ‘em. That’s the bottom line. That’s the lesson you learned and the price you paid to learn it. So go get whatever intel you can from their corpses and stop complaining. That’s an order.”

They stared at him wordlessly. Seconds ticked by, and Izzy finally spoke, her voice soft. “He has a point, Bobbi.” 

Slowly, Bobbi sank into a chair beside Izzy. Despite her supposed acceptance of their words, the battle staves continued to twirl. He huffed and turned back to the letters. He knew Bobbi well enough by now to know she’d rally and check out the corpses as soon as she worked out a plan of sorts. He’d seen her ability to make something from nothing in their last firefight; she’d pull it off.

The silence stretched and began to grate on Phillips’ nerves. Whatever advice he gave others about accepting mistakes and moving on, he knew from experience how hard that advice was to follow. And it was never harder to take than when he had a stack of letters to sign. They never seemed to give him good letters to sign these days, he thought ruefully.

The silence was finally broken by a gigantic peal of thunder so violent the ground quaked beneath their feet. In seconds, they were all out of the tent and staring through a cloud of dust and sand, guns raised in case of attack. As it settled, they could make out the features of a man, and Phillips growled. “Guns down.” He recognized the man. “Thor,” he greeted him. “You brought my reinforcements?”

“Alas, no, though I have friends who may serve that purpose. I bring tidings from King James and Queen Sharon.” He strode forward and pulled a box from a knapsack slung over his shoulder. Phillips had to bite his tongue at the sight of a god of thunder carrying what looked suspicously like a purse. “I must go deliver the rest, but Captain Rogers will be along shortly to show you how to use it.”

“Captain Rog- Steve Rogers?”

“The very same. King James has made him a captain of his army. Now if you’ll excuse me, I must deliver the rest of these.”

Phillips bit his tongue again, this time to keep from smarting off to Thor about how much help he was, and stepped back. He wasn’t sure how Norse gods got around, but he was sure he didn’t want to be too close to one when it happened.

Thor nodded to the rest of the group and spun his hammer. Once it was nothing but a blur, he launched himself into the air and was gone.

Phillips snorted ungratefully and focused on the box in his hands.

Lance stared upward, trying to track Thor in the sky even though the god was already far gone. “He must spend all his time in the gym,” he noted.

“I don’t think Asgardians have gyms, Lance.” Izzy turned to Bobbi and rolled her eyes.

“I’m just saying,” Lance argued. “Who’s he trying to impress?”

“He doesn’t need to impress anyone.” Bobbi spun her staves lazily and glanced at Izzy. “I hear he’s spoken for. The question is, Lance, why did your thoughts immediately go there? Is there somebody you’re trying to impress?”

“What? No! I’m just saying-”

“Because,” Bobbi continued, ignoring his interruption, “what you did was a psychological move for us to dismiss his muscles as overdone and also imply that Thor is vain.”

Izzy gave a low whistle. “And if he is, he has every right to be. _Damn._ ”

Bobbi grinned at her. “And putting down Thor is supposed to make us think more favorably of men who aren’t like Thor. Like...” She pointed a stave at Lance, then abruptly turned it to Phillips. “Like Colonel Phillips.” 

Izzy snorted a laugh and held up a hand. “Sorry, Colonel.”

“Even though he does look more attractive now, doesn’t he?” Bobbi teased.

“I hate you both,” Lance muttered.

Phillips did his best to ignore them and turned the box over in his hands again. He couldn’t make heads or tails of the damn thing. Not for the first time, he thought that he was getting too old for this job. He gave the box a gentle shake and wondered if this was like the toys she’d already sent - Bobbi had taken the camo-tech that he’d wanted to play with - or if it was something else. And how, he wondered, was this crap supposed to help them? Back in his day, he’d had people on the front, fighting their hearts out. It had been about strategy and endurance.

Of course, the stack of letters on his desk attested to how well that plan worked.

Bobbi and Izzy’s laughter was cut off when a male figure winked into existence before them. Everyone but Phillips and Bobbi immediately trained their guns on him; Bobbi held up her battle staves.

Phillips growled as he recognized the man. “Call me crazy, son, but I’d hoped for more than just one man.”

Rogers held his shield in front of him and gave the others a slow, polite nod. “I’ll do my best to pick up the slack, sir. I have orders to show you how to work the teleportation device.”

“Teleportation-” Phillips stared down at the box in his hands. “This thing teleports people?”

“Yes, sir.” Rogers walked over. “Well, close. This thing is a receptor, basically like a marker on a map. The teleporters themselves can take you to different points - to teleport there, we need a receptor there already, which is why Thor’s taking them to all the necessary points first.” He opened a pocket on his belt and unhooked a machine that looked like a toy car remote controller and showed it to Phillips. “Right now, they can only teleport near each of the receptors, and we’re still testing how far off they can be. We’re to memorize where each receptor is - we aren’t allowed to move them so that we can use them. No writing anything down. Queen Sharon wanted me to give you one of the teleporters, since you’re in charge here.”

Phillips looked at the phone Rogers held out in distaste. “Son. You’re making me cry. And not just ‘cause you’re dressed up like Army Flag GI Joe.” At least the uniform was proper military gear, even if it was painted red, white, and blue.

Rogers shifted uncomfortably. “Yes, sir.”

Phillips grunted. “Okay. Show me how to use this damn thing. He really made you a captain, did he?”

“So much worse,” Rogers muttered. Before he could say more, though, there was a bright light, and cold air hurtled over them like a tidal wave. Rogers raised his shield to protect himself and Phillips.

“Did we miss the fighting?” a prim voice asked.

Phillips coughed at the dust and narrowed his eyes. The light had faded, but he still had spots in his eyes. And was it his imagination, or were some of the spots not moving, as if they’d been burned into the sand itself? “Who’re you supposed to be?” he demanded.

Another voice answered. “I am Sif, of Asgard. And these are the Warriors Three, also of Asgard.” He could barely make her out now, a woman with jet black hair and a large sword. Right. He remembered the news reports now. She’d been involved in that circus in New Mexico. The other three were... “This is Hogun, Fandral, and the particularly large one is Volstagg.”

The large one harrumphed. “Just jealous she isn’t as attractive as I am.”

Sif smirked. “Prince Thor said you could use reinforcements.”

“Running a damn carnival around here,” Phillips muttered. Seeing Sif’s features turn menacing, he held up a hand. “Look, we’re up against weapons that atomize you when they shoot you.”

She nodded. “The Tesseract’s power has been subverted, surely.”

“And this would not be so great a battle,” Fandral added, “if it were to be easily won.”

Phillips sighed. A damn carnival, he thought darkly. As much as he’d dedicated his life to serving the Carters, he didn’t understand half the things those damn royals did, that was for sure.

Bobbi cleared her throat. “So... Sif. How well can you use that sword?”

Sif grinned at her. “How well can you use your staves?”

Bobbi grinned back. “Want to find out?”

Sif nodded and drew her sword “Where may we test each other’s strength?”

Phillips growled. Damn. Carnival. “Show me how to use this damn thing,” he snapped again at Rogers.

“Where are the injured? I’ll show you when we send them home,” Steve suggested.

*

“Maybe I should have asked you to teach me about poisons,” Sharon said as she, Natasha, and Clint walked down the hall. With the Duchess and her party gone, the palace somehow felt emptier. How the place could do that with fewer than twelve people gone and a slew of injured men using the place as an infirmary was beyond her, Natasha thought. Though if she were honest with herself, it had actually started feeling emptier when-

Honesty was overrated.

Natasha smirked. “If I taught you poisons, you’d poison yourself by accident as soon as I turned around.”

“Yeah.” Sharon rolled her eyes. “Like you’d turn around.” She sighed and frowned at a portrait of Charles I. “Maybe we should just start doing impromptu dental checks. Do you have poison in your teeth? Yes? Then you’re going to Wakefield.” Her features darkened. “Screw Wakefield. That break-out was deplorable. I’m putting new security in the Tower and using that instead.”

“You’d lose the revenue from tourism,” Natasha pointed out, not believing Sharon for a second. Sharon was losing more of her impulsive edge the longer she ruled, and Natasha wasn’t sure, but sometimes it seemed to her like Sharon laid the groundwork for some things meticulously only to act as if it were based on impulsivity later on.

Whatever Clint’s thoughts were about their conversation, he led the way and kept them to himself. Natasha knew he could hear, though, and she almost considered asking him what he thought about Sharon’s potential plans for Wakefield. Sharon might joke about using the Tower, but she wouldn’t treat Wakefield’s lax security as a joke. And as childish as Clint could be from time to time, she’d come to respect his abilities as a bodyguard and his judgement.

“Tourism has been in the pits since the War started, and it’s only gotten worse,” Sharon said with grim cheer. “Maybe I should do like the Victorians and let people go on tours and throw things at the prisoners. Charge them for the privilege, too. And I can charge the prisoners for their stay and keep.” Her cheer disappeared as Clint lifted a hand to stop them, and she looked worriedly to Natasha.

Natasha moved to sandwich Sharon between her and Clint. “Barton?”

“There are supposed to be four guards on this hall. None of them are there.”

Natasha ran through her mental checklist. Sharon was armed - she, Clint, and May had insisted on additional measures after news had come of Ward’s escape. And she had the teleporter. May had the only other teleporter at the palace; James and Sharon had gotten five teleporters each. Foster had said there was no time to make more. She glanced behind her and frowned. “Guards are gone behind us.” How had she not heard anything behind them?

Sharon took a deep breath, and Natasha grabbed her hand. Sharon hadn’t been raised as Natasha had been; Natasha could have taken captivity like Sharon’s in stride, could have taken torture and so much more, but Sharon had never been treated like that in her life before.

“If something happens, use the teleporter and get the hell out. Go to James. Stay there until you hear from one of us.”

Clint notched an arrow.

“Calling him James now?” Sharon’s voice trembled despite her appearance of bravado. “Why don’t you just admit-”

A gunshot cracked through the air, and Sharon cried out as Clint grunted and doubled-over. Natasha immediately pulled Sharon behind her, blocking her queen with her body. “Barton!”

“Go.” He clenched his teeth and raised his bow. “I’ll hold them off.”

Natasha pursed her lips. No. She couldn’t make sure he was safe, no matter how much she might like to. She had to get Sharon to safety. “Buy me time.” She gave Sharon a push to get her going.

“The fuck do you think I’m going to do, Nat?” he demanded, exasperated. Not even a gunshot wound could suppress his attitude.

She ignored him. If he was still alive later, maybe she’d apologize. But for now... She wracked her brain for escape routes Ward wouldn’t know about. She and May had been quietly working on new ones ever since Ward’s betrayal had come to light. Planning had taken on greater urgency after news of the break-out, but in the end, they couldn’t be sure that Ward or his cohorts wouldn’t know more about the palace than they did.

The oldest parts of the palace were the best bet. And damn it, Buckingham wasn’t that old, in the scheme of things. It would have been easier if someone had tried to kill Sharon at Windsor or even St. James Palace. “The Chapel. _Go,_ ” she hissed at Sharon. She was relieved to see Sharon nod and take off. Good. No matter how much training Sharon had undergone, it was good to see that she hadn’t frozen when they could least afford it. And whoever had taken out the guards after they’d passed was still there.

Behind them, Natasha heard Clint call someone an asshole. Gunshots followed, and Sharon stumbled. Natasha pulled her back up. “Cry later,” she urged. “Focus on surviving right now. Think about Rikki.”

She was right to think Rikki’s name would put more fight in Sharon’s step. Her own safety didn’t matter enough to her, but sparing her distant cousin from dealing with this was motivation Natasha could use.

“Natasha!” Sharon stopped short and launched herself at Natasha, knocking her out of the way as gunshots rang out. “It’s Ward,” she said quickly as she scrambled off of her. She looked over her shoulder in the other direction, her brow creasing. “If Ward is there, and Clint got-”

Natasha got to her feet and glared at Ward. This was as good a time as any to try out the bracelets Fitz and Simmons had left with her before they’d gone away with the Duchess. “Sharon. Blue twenty-two. Understand?”

She gave a slow nod and glanced back to Ward. “Are you-”

“ _Go._ ” Natasha tilted her head to each side and listened to the bones pop into place. She smirked at Ward. “Back for a rematch, Ward? Don’t you want to start with a child first? Maybe that way, you’d stand a chance.”

Behind her, she heard Sharon move down the hall, and not wanting Ward’s attention to return to the queen, she charged and leapt into the air to wrap her thighs around him and bring him down, but he quickly moved with her, curling into a ball and- and was he countering her?

She rolled away when they hit the ground. How the hell had he managed to counter her? Even in the Red Room, there were few who could have countered that move.

His grin said he knew exactly what she was thinking. 

She clenched her fists and was about to wipe his damned grin off his face when she heard Sharon shout. Over Ward’s shoulder, she saw a man lift Sharon by the throat and cursed herself. She should have stayed with her, not sent her off alone!

Ward saw her tense and moved to block her. “Rumlow wanted a bit of payback. I know, I know. It doesn’t look like Rumlow, but the Queen burned his face off and he’s a little sensitive about his looks now. You’ll have to let them have their fun and deal with me instead.”

Natasha hadn’t loathed Grant Ward as much as he’d deserved. He thought she’d made him suffer before? It was nothing compared to what she was going to do to him now.

She grinned darkly as Rumlow growled in pain. “Sharon can hold her own.”

Ward’s smile was peaceful, unruffled. He seemed to think he had all the time in the world. “Rumlow’s trained all his life and has a bone to pick with her. I don’t think she can hold her own _that_ well.”

Natasha inhaled as she saw Sharon hit a wall and crumple to the ground. She launched herself forward, and Ward grabbed her by the hair and kneed her in the face. She fell to the floor, her eye on fire. 

“Have to get through me first.” As calm as he sounded, she knew he meant it. 

She didn’t have any more time to waste on this asshole. She threw a kick, and he blocked it. She spared a glance over her shoulder as she kept throwing kicks and punches, looking for weaknesses. He was good enough that she couldn’t fight him and worry about Sharon at the same time. “SHARON. _GO._ ”

There was a brief moment when she met Sharon’s eyes, and then Sharon disappeared from sight and Ward’s fist connected with her jaw.

Rumlow roared in anger and stormed toward her, picking Natasha up like a rag doll and shaking her. “WHERE IS SHE?”

Natasha smirked. “How the fuck should I know, Rumlow? Sucks to be you.”

Rumlow stopped shaking her, and Natasha used the precious few seconds of stillness to get her breath back. The next thing she knew, he’d thrown her against the wall, and she had to fight the darkness that threatened her vision.

This, she thought wryly as the black spots got larger, might be a tougher fight than she’d thought.

*

“You enjoyed that way too much,” Sam chastised as he and James walked toward James’ office.

James hummed but didn’t deny it. “And let me tell you why. We went on a roller coaster once in New York. We were special guests, and he was my best friend, so I dragged him with me on all the rides. We get to the Cyclone, and he throws up all over me. It was funny at the time, sure, but can you really blame me for enjoying his discomfort?”

Sam snorted. “I can’t wait to see Steve’s payback, then. Seriously, you made the guy do a photoshoot.”

“Only to go along with the article Christine’s article. It’ll be good to have it out there. People need a morale booster. Provided they believe the things Betty told Christine about what Steve can do...”

“And we’re just not going to mention how we can teleport now.”

James shuddered. “Hell no. Can you imagine what would happen if one of the teleporters got into the wrong hands?”

“Seems like we aren’t mentioning a lot of stuff these days.” Sam opened the door to James’ apartments and froze as he saw Pierce inside, surrounded by a group of armed men. He reached out to push James away but instead found James shoved into him before he could do anything.

“Inside,” Roeder greeted him. He waved his gun toward the door.

Pierce gave a half-bow inside the office. “Gentlemen.” He straightened and waved to the seats in front of James’ desk. “Come in. I overheard you say something about teleporters? Let’s discuss those while you sign these papers, and then we’ll decide whether I have you killed or not?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My computer actually crashed on me a couple times while writing this, which involved rewriting it and backing up EVERYTHING like you wouldn't believe. I think there were some improvements in the second draft, though.
> 
> As long as this chapter is, the next one is going to be even longer. Sorry about that? But on the bright side, there are only two chapters left! If you've read this far, thank you!


	8. Battle of a Hundred Places

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final battle begins at last.

May had lost count of how many times she’d played the security tape. Her eyes ached, but she had eighteen dead prison guards on her hands and no idea who the hell had sprung Ward from prison. It would have been easier to identify the man in the mask if she could hear what was going on, but of course, budgetary restrictions meant they had no sound. Something about the man was familiar, but she couldn’t place him. Who among Ward’s associates would bust him out of Wakefield?

It wasn’t until she saw the way the man palmed his gun that it clicked. Damn it, she _did_ recognize the man in the mask. She’d been too focused on his associates who were still alive. Damn it!

She grabbed her gun and the teleporter she’d been tasked with protecting and pushed herself up from her desk. If Rumlow and Ward were working together, then she and Natasha had severely underestimated the threat. They had to get Sharon to Windsor, no matter how much Sharon might protest.

She froze at the knock on her door. She lowered her gun but kept it at the ready. “Yes?”

Gilmore Hodge came in, dressed in his army uniform instead of the palace guard uniforms. Hutter and Sitwell followed him in. Both of them were dressed for battle as well. Sitwell gave her the faintest nod, as if she hadn’t already figured out what was happening. Her eyes narrowed. She had less time to warn Natasha and Sharon than she’d thought.

Hodge had no sooner smiled at her than she’d shot him in the forehead; Sitwell shot Hutter in the ass, and May fought not to roll her eyes at how childish it was.

Hutter fell to the floor and turned to stare at him. “You shot me in the- You fucking traitor!”

“Yeah, imagine,” Sitwell snapped. “Somebody in the palace. A traitor. Shocker.” This time, the shot went through Hutter’s head. He nodded to May. “Ma’am.”

“You shot him in the ass.”

He shrugged. “Didn’t feel right doing a kill shot from behind.”

She frowned at him. She’d thought he was a mediocre agent who fumbled with guns and complained too much. She had banked on his loyalty, but honor hadn’t factored into it. She may not be certain any longer what kind of man he was, other than loyal to the Queen, but she knew how to respond. “Next time, don’t waste a shot. Honor isn’t going to protect you. We have to find Natasha and the Queen. Immediately. They’re in danger.”

“Aren’t they always?” he griped. Nonetheless, he followed her without further protest.

She was definitely going to have to reconsider her assessment of Sitwell.

*

“I thought we were supposed to have a week,” Lance muttered, looking out over the men assembled before them. There were tanks, too, damn it. “And those are definitely not Rings agents.”

“They’re bad about keeping time, and no, those are definitely not Rings,” Phillips agreed.

“Axis,” Steve agreed. “Over a thousand of them. Tight formation.” His grip tightened on his shield.

“And we number fewer than one hundred fifty,” Fandral murmured. “It would be more glorious, perhaps, if we asked some of your men to rest while we fight.”

Phillips glared at him. “Yeah. Shame I’m more interested in surviving than I am in glory.”

“Ah,” Fandral said slowly. “Yes. Glory is difficult to enjoy when you’re not around to experience it, I suppose.” He made a face at Hogun and Volstagg. Phillips was too much like the stern All-Father for his liking.

“Why come back here, anyway?” Lance asked. “Wasn’t us beating them last time good enough?”

Phillips grumped. “That’s why they’re here. Their guns are supposed to turn the tide of the War, and we beat them. They have to prove to everyone that their weapons are superior, so they have to beat us now.”

“That’s... not a happy thought.”

Phillips fought the urge to roll his eyes. “If it makes you feel any better, son, they probably also want revenge. Most of us are going to die fast and ugly.”

Lance looked back over the soldiers in black uniforms and nodded. “Yeah. That helps,” he said dryly. “Bobbi, if we don’t-” He turned to face her and dropped his eyes to the ground. “Just- Don’t die out there.”

Bobbi smiled as if she understood what Lance had been about to say. Chances were, she was the only person other than Izzy who could understand him at all.

“What are we waiting for?” Volstagg demanded. “The sooner we finish the battle, the sooner we may feast!”

This time, Sif shared a suffering look with Bobbi and Izzy.

Phillips looked out after the crowd. “Aw, hell. Let’s go die.”

“That’s the spirit!” Fandral commended him. Maybe Phillips was more fun than the All-Father, after all.

*

“Are you sure you know how it works?” Pepper asked again.

“Pep. I’m a supergenius.” Tony flipped the box over. “JARVIS. Enhance, 4X.”

Pepper sighed. “I feel ridiculous talking to you when you’re dressed up like a trash can. And I’m not sure you were listening when Jane tried to tell you how it works. Do you want me to get her? She’s still upstairs. JARVIS and I are going to take her back to the White Palace as soon as I know that you two aren’t going to get yourselves killed.”

“I’ll keep an eye on him,” Rhodey promised.

She bit her lip. “Not comforting when I’m worried about you, too.”

“And it’s hotrod red,” Tony said, finally looking up from the box and giving Pepper a cheeky grin she couldn’t see through the helmet. “I’m in a hotrod red trash can.” He snapped her a salute, moved to stand beside Rhodey, and pressed the button on the box.

Pepper disappeared.

Tony stared at the spot where she’d been. “JARVIS. Locate Pep.”

“Yes, sir.” Seconds later, JARVIS came back, his voice faintly alarmed as he said, “Sir. I can’t find Ms. Potts in the house. As a matter of fact, she doesn’t seem to be anywhere on the continent. I’m widening my search now, sir.”

Tony was already on his way upstairs. “Fine. I think I know what’s happened anyway. FOSTER!”

*

Akela Amador had lost an eye to the War. She supposed that didn’t qualify as a lost limb enough for her to benefit from the New Life New Limbs program that the King had set in motion. And God, she didn’t even want to know who had come up with the name. If it were the King, she’d lose too much respect for him to serve.

Except not really, no.

It was a good thing she didn’t have any friends here, or she might have said that out loud and been taken seriously. But Akela’s parents had been in the military. Her uncles and aunts had all done their time. She still had a cousin stationed in Hungary. She knew the cost of freedom, and she and her entire family had dedicated themselves to preserving that freedom. Even when bodies came back instead of letters, they were dedicated to preserving freedom. They were patriots. They were loyal. She was a loyal.

Even if everyone she had served with was dead, she was still loyal.

Which was why, when she saw Garrett and Rollins outside the King’s study, she pretended she hadn’t seen anything at all and kept walking. She sped up as soon as she was out of sight. Garrett and Rollins weren’t supposed to be at the King’s office. She didn’t know much about the inner workings of the monarch and his office, but Akela knew that the King trusted very, very few people. Garrett and Rollins weren’t on that list. They shouldn’t be, at least. Akela had known guards like Garrett and Rollins all her life - they used their station as a way to oppress and hurt the weak. They liked to target people without armor or weapons, while the pair of them naturally kept both. She’d seen smiles like theirs when she’d been in that cage in the Middle East. None of the people Akela knew the King trusted were like that - Wilson, the dorky painter, Coulson, and Hill. If Garrett and Rollins had been put on the list, then she’d apologize.

Akela had met Garrett and Rollins. She knew better than to trust them.

She couldn’t go knock on the King’s door and ask if he was all right. Coulson or Hill were her best bets. Of the pair of them, Coulson’s office was closer.

She got to Coulson’s door and rapped her knuckles against the door. She waited a beat, then shoved her way into the room. If he was in a meeting, it would have to wait. She barely blinked as she saw the gun Coulson aimed at her head, even though the young woman on the couch - the former criminal she’d heard about - jumped and covered her mouth to keep from making noise.

Akela didn’t waste time. She’d watched the Duchess’s press conference. She’d followed Queen Sharon’s kidnapping as much as anyone. She’d seen how paranoid the King was. She didn’t trust Garrett and Rollins, and they were currently standing guard outside the King’s door. “The King trusts you. Does he trust Garrett and Rollins, too?”

Coulson was silent, and Akela tried not to twitch. His hesitation could cost them, but if she seemed uncomfortable, he might distrust her. “Why are you asking?” he asked at last.

“They’re keeping watch outside the King’s apartments, and they’re armed.”

Coulson was on his feet immediately and grabbing extra ammo from a desk drawer. He pointed to the woman on the couch. “Skye, lock the door after me. Don’t open it for anyone. That’s an order. Understand?”

She nodded, her eyes wide.

He closed the door firmly behind him and turned off the safety. “What’s your name again?”

“Akela Amador, sir.”

“Well, Akela. Welcome to the team. Do you prefer to go high or low?”

*

May broke into a sprint when she saw Clint on the ground. The closer she got, the more she saw to dislike. His bow and arrows knocked astray. His shirt blown to bits and the stuffing from his vest scattered around him. She fell to her knees beside him and checked for a pulse. She exhaled in relief when she heard his groan.

“He’s fine. Vest must have taken the brunt of it,” she told Sitwell. “Help me get him up.”

“No,” Clint moaned. “Just leave me here to die. Go on without me...”

“The Queen’s life is in danger,” May snapped. “We don’t have time for this, Barton.”

Clint groaned and pushed himself up. He coughed and pointed down the hall. “They went that way.” He looked down at his shirt. “All I did was call the guy an asshole.”

May nodded to Sitwell, and together, the two of them pulled Clint to his feet. Down the hall, she heard the faint sound of a man’s laugh, and she knew that laugh. She also knew that if Rumlow was laughing, it wasn’t about anything good.

*

James could deal with insults, but the sight of Alexander Pierce sitting in James’ chair behind James’ desk was almost more than he could handle. He understood what Pierce’s presence there meant. Never in his lifetime had he thought he would be insulted in such a way. Even though he’d known for some time now that people plotted against him, even though he knew they had murdered his parents and tried to kill him and those he cared about, he hadn’t thought such an affront as this was possible.

“You’re in the wrong chair, Pierce.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sam tense for a fight, but with this many guns trained on them, he didn’t stand a chance. Neither of them did. If they ever made it out of this, James vowed, he’d knight the hell out of Sam.

Pierce gave him a thin-lipped smile. “No, James. I’m not. But if you want to stand, that’s fine with me.” He leaned back in the chair, and James’ eyes followed the movement. That was the chair in which the King of the country conducted business. For Pierce to sit in it as if he owned it... As if he deserved to sit there, as if he had the right to do so...

“You understand that it is the seat from which the regent of this country conducts his business. You understand that it is essentially an extension of the throne. Remove yourself from it,” James warned, his voice icy. “Or be executed for treason.”

One of the guards chuckled, and Pierce smiled again as if agreeing that it was a joke. “James. I have ruled this country since before you were born. If anything, you’re the one who’s guilty of treason. I’ve held the throne unofficially for decades, and now it’s time to make it official.” He pushed a small packet of papers across the desk. “Sign these and you’ll live. There’s a nice mansion in Washington State. Secluded. Peaceful. You’ll be happy there.”

“Until you decide to kill me later,” James responded. “Will you get an orphan to do it?” The thought that the United States might do to children what Russia had done to children like Natasha turned his stomach.

Pierce hung his head without taking his eyes from James. “Like they did in Russia? I heard what your friend, Ms. Romanoff, did. I’ll give her immunity, if you like, and you two can live together. Away from the pressures of this life. You’ve done well until now, James. The least I can do is pay for your keep. And I’d be happy to pay for Ms. Romanoff’s, as well, despite her past... transgressions.”

James frowned. Immunity? What had Natasha done that she would need immunity for?

No. Pierce was just trying to plant doubts in his mind.

And if Natasha _had_ done something, James knew that she was capable of defending herself.

Pierce continued, his voice calm and reasonable. “Maybe you can even marry her, if you’re as fond of her as you seem. Something you couldn’t do as King. And no, I would never murder my sovereign, James. I’m an American. A good American. A _true_ American.”

“And yet my parents are dead. My little sister died after a supposed riding accident. Most of our nobles have been killed off.”

Pierce’s features darkened. “Not my doing, James. I only wanted what was best for you and for this country.” He pressed a precise finger to the papers. “And this is what’s best for you, James. Trust me. I’d hate for these men to kill you for not listening to me.”

James pressed his hands against the desk and leaned forward; his metal hand splintered the edge of the wood. “You think I haven’t faced death before, you spineless, worthless-”

There was an undignified squeak as something fell heavily nearby, and they all turned to see a disheveled Sharon shoving her hair out of her face. She blinked up at James and Sam, saw the armed men surrounding them, and shook her head. “I fucking think not,” she muttered, pointing her teleporter at James and Sam. A second later, half the armed guards disappeared.

She looked at the box in distaste. “Aw, crap.”

And that was when all hell broke loose.

*

They were losing, Steve thought. They couldn’t afford to lose this fight, but that was exactly what they were fucking doing. He’d wanted to be a soldier all his life, like his dad, like his friends, and now here he was, his first fight, and he was losing. Super serum or no, he was losing.

To his right, Izzy cried out, blood gushing from her hand. Before he could reach her, Sif was at her side and protecting them both with her own shield as she checked the wound.

Steve saw a soldier about to fire on them and threw his shield as Clint had taught him, punching one man and kicking another before catching the shield as it ricocheted back to him. He wasn’t crazy about dying in this uniform, but there were worse things than being buried with a shield like this, he thought. He threw it again, appreciating how it already felt like a part of him.

If he survived, he’d really have to send T’Challa a thank-you note.

In retrospect, he wasn’t sure what he noticed first. There was a shock of red hair, the realization that someone in the field wasn’t wearing armor, the thought that the person was falling, and then Steve was moving, catching them before they hit the ground, barely managing to catch his shield as it went past.

He looked down at the person as he moved the shield to protect her and blinked in surprise. “Miss Potts?”

“Ms,” she replied automatically, covering her head with her hands as gunfire crackled nearby. “What happened?”

“I think you just teleported. We need to get you out of here.”

Her eyes widened as she looked around and realized what was happening. “Tony,” she growled.

Steve had never wanted to be Tony Stark; the look on Pepper’s face told him that at this moment, Stark might want to reconsider being Tony Stark, too.

*

Natasha could take Ward on alone any day of the week. The trouble, she thought grumpily, was that Ward and Rumlow together were a challenge. Ward was well-trained, nearly as well-trained as she was. Rumlow wasn’t as well trained, but he was good at taking pain and enjoyed giving pain in return. Something about order, blah, blah, blah. It was hard to hear when they kept throwing her into walls and trying to shoot her.

At least she’d managed to disarm Rumlow. Ward didn’t seem inclined to shoot to kill; he was a good enough shot that he could have killed her now, but instead, he’d only shot her once in the leg and another time in the arm, both wounds painful but nonfatal. No, they were toying with her, playing with their food before the kill.

Natasha was a Widow. Failure meant death. Success meant pain. And people who underestimated her, who thought her grimaces and gasps were signs of true suffering, were fools. She just had to wait. She just had to convince them she was harmless now, get them close long enough for her plan to work... And if there was one thing that had been drilled into her head, over and over, it was how to manipulate targets to get what she wanted.

“Who- whoever you’re working for,” she gasped, whimpering on the floor. “Are you sure they want me dead? Maybe I can be useful.”

Rumlow laughed and grabbed her by the hair, pulling her to her feet, and she gasped in pain. He seemed to like the sound enough to give her a shake. “Only use you have, girlie, is dying.”

She took a shuddering breath, and then her shoulders relaxed. “Thank you.” Her voice held no trace of pain. She shoved her fist to his neck and squeezed her glove like Fitz had shown her. There was a blue light, and then Rumlow shook violently, his eyes rolling to the back of his head.

She fell to her feet as Rumlow collapsed on the floor, and she stood to face Ward. The gunshot wounds were dull aches that she pushed to the back of her mind. “I’ve been shot in the arm and in the leg. I’ve been thrown against the wall more times than you can count, punched more times than you can count, kicked more times than you can count, and yet none of this compares to the training I underwent as a child.” she said, her voice calm. “You’re out of bullets, and you’ve pissed me off.”

He smirked and clenched his fists, but then his eyes went to something behind her.

He turned and ran.

She stepped forward to follow, but her wounded leg nearly gave way beneath her. She glared over her shoulder at whatever had frightened off Ward and found herself facing May, Sitwell, and, in far worse shape, Clint. She leaned against the wall to take stock of her injuries.

“May, Sharon teleported to James. Rumlow’s down-”

“Get Ward,” May finished, already running after him.

Natasha panted for breath against the wall and nodded to Clint. “You look like hell.”

“I still look better than you.” He looked to Sitwell and nodded to Rumlow. “Do the honors, new guy.”

Sitwell froze, not realizing what they wanted him to do. Clint looked from the handcuffs at Sitwell’s waist to the unconscious Rumlow. Sitwell jumped and hurried to cuff Rumlow.

Clint leaned against the wall next to Natasha. “So the Queen is safe at the White Palace, we’ve got Rumlow in custody. Ward is seconds away from being in custody, and you and me need an infirmary.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re going to jinx it, Barton.”

He straightened and stretched. “Come on, Nat. What happened to your sense of optimism?”

“Life, Clint.” She sighed. “I’m going to find a phone and make sure Sharon’s okay.”

*

“We didn’t exactly have time to test in detail!” Jane snapped. “The math checked out.”

“ _Did it?_ ” Tony snapped back. He took a step forward. In his suit, he towered over her. “Is that why Rhodey and I are still here and Pep’s likely halfway across the world?”

“The math checked out,” Jane repeated, not backing down. Her eyes narrowed. She and Selvig had worked on those numbers for days before asking Tony if he could help work make the teleportation devices. He’d only agreed to help once he’d finished his suits. It had, like so many other things in her life lately, been a rush job. But she _knew_ the math was sound. “Sounds like the equipment was flawed.”

“Oh, shit,” Rhodey said slowly.

Tony’s suit didn’t move.

“Jane. Why don’t you... uh...” Rhodey waved for her to back up.

She shook her head. “No. I’m going to go back to the palace and work out how to fix this. But first, you and Stark are going to go find Pepper. Is that clear?”

Tony’s suit still didn’t move.

“Roger that,” Rhodey said uncomfortably.

Jane looked down at the box in her hands and made some adjustments. With a press of a button, Tony and Rhodey were gone. “Unbelievable,” she muttered, turning toward the door. “How does Pepper deal with them?”

She jumped as the house’s AI answered. “With large amounts of chamomile tea.”

“Uh... Good to know? Thanks?”

“You’re very welcome, Dr. Foster.”

Was it just her, or did the house sound amused?

She was very, very careful to close the door politely on her way out.

*

Bruce tackled Betty to the ground as soon as he heard the gunshots, his heart pounding. Were the soldiers trying to shoot him? No, the shots were too far away. He noticed a green streak spread beneath his skin quickly moved away from Betty, closing his eyes and taking deep breaths.

Betty pushed herself up. Before he could ask her if she was all right, her eyes widened. “Oh my God. James.” She bolted for the door too fast for Bruce to stop her.

He ran after her, skidding to a halt as he saw Victoria Hand with the biggest gun he’d ever seen standing in the middle of the hall.

“James!” Betty shouted at her, running past.

Victoria grabbed Betty’s arm with a free hand and yanked her back. “Whoa! Stop. You’re not bulletproof. No way I’m letting you in there.”

Bruce looked between the two of them. He wasn’t taking deep breaths anymore. He’d thought, for a moment, that Victoria might actually try to shoot Betty. But now it turned out that James truly was in danger. His King, whom he had only just met but who had earned Betty’s trust and loyalty long ago. And that trust and loyalty was now what could cost Betty her life if James was deposed. Bruce had lived on the run for years; he wouldn’t wish that on anyone else, especially not Betty.

“I am,” he said quietly.

They turned together to look at him. Victoria seemed cautious, but the shock on Betty’s face hurt. “What?”

“I’m bulletproof.”

“Bruce, how do you know you’re- If it was from earlier, that wasn’t _you,_ and-”

He shook his head as he walked closer, even though it meant he was also closer to the source of the shots. “I know because I’ve tried it before.” He lifted a finger to his mouth, then his forehead, illustrating the ways he’d tried to shoot himself. “It didn’t take. The other guy takes over, and...” He shrugged. They could figure out the rest. Bruce was still here, after all. When he reached her and leaned in to give her a soft kiss on the cheek. He didn’t dare do anything more. He cared for her, and he thought sometimes that she might care for him, too, but they’d broken up years ago. She had treated him with the kindess she showed to everyone, and he didn’t want to betray that kindness by assuming too much. He eyed Victoria. “Keep her safe.”

She nodded and hefted her improbably large gun onto her hip. As he walked down the hall, his shirt ripping as the other guy came out, he heard her say, “Come on, Ross. It’s you, me, and my big-ass gun. Your dad’s holding his own at the gate. What say we catch some rats of our own?”

*

Ward stopped running in the Portrait Gallery, standing between the Rembrandt and the van Dyck.

She slowed as she drew nearer, alert for sounds of another ally. They had no idea yet how extensive Hydra was or how many friends Ward and Rumlow might have brought. Queen Victoria had installed a secret passageway behind a fireplace in the Gallery. He could draw her between him and the fireplace, and then any allies he might have could surround her. After all, he seemed to prefer fighting women one on one or ganging up on them.

“Afraid of little old me?” he taunted.

She turned her head very slightly to either side, loosening the muscles. “You’re the one who’s too afraid to come closer, Ward. Besides,” she drawled, “we both know that if another woman showed up, you’d start running again.”

The first dig hadn’t been enough to elicit a response. The second certainly was. As he sped toward her, she spun with a high kick, catching him in his cheek, and she didn’t let up. He’d betrayed the Queen, he’d betrayed the team, and he’d come back to hurt them all over again. She had half a mind to break his esophagus just so she’d never have to hear him speak again, but she’d settle for breaking the rest of him.

He struck her still-healing leg - she wasn’t sure if it was by chance or if someone had told him she’d been shot in the graveyard - and she nearly sank to her knees. He pressed his advantage enough to get a punch in, but she’d been punched before. She kneed him in the midriff, then grabbed his head and brought it crashing down against her knee. She studied him as he fell to the floor, wondering if he was down for good or if she should hit him again for good measure.

His hand was twitching. She pulled back to punch him again, only for him to disappear.

She reached for her teleporter and cursed. Sure enough, it was no longer on her belt. Not only was there no way to tell where he was now, but they no longer had any teleporters in the palace.

*

Thor sat with Jane, Selvig, and Darcy as they talked about the flawed teleporters. To be fair, Jane and Selvig talked about them; Thor and Darcy listened with rather different levels of interest. Thor was accustomed to fairly advanced sciences, but the terminology Jane and Selvig used was unfamiliar to him, and he’d always been more interested in battle. He followed as best he could nonetheless. No one on Asgard had ever developed a teleportation device, though neither Jane nor Selvig seemed to realize just how astounding their discovery was.

It was Darcy who hopped up and covered Jane and Selvig’s mouths. Jane started to protest, but Darcy shushed her. Selvig, evidently more accustomed to this, took the time to gauge the temperature of his coffee.

“Were those gunshots?” Darcy asked.

Thor frowned. He didn’t have much experience with guns, but he knew that they could kill people, and he knew that James’ life was in danger. He stood and took Mjolnir in hand. “At least _try_ to stay here?” he asked Jane before he took off to join the fight.

*

“Is there a plan?” Akela asked.

Coulson glanced around the corner. They could hear shouting and gunshots in the office, but Garrett and another guard were still at the door. “Try not to get shot,” he told her.

“And?”

He looked at her. “And that’s the plan.”

“That’s the plan,” Akela repeated flatly.

“That’s the plan.” He grinned at her, then glanced back and cursed under his breath. “Hold off on the plan.”

“I’m not sure you should call it a plan at all, sir.”

“Maybe criticize my plan when we _aren’t_ about to have big trouble.”

Akela didn’t dare look around him to see what the big trouble was, but the gunshots and the roar that answered them loudly enough that the building shuddered were enough of a hint that something had happened. Her brow furrowed. “Wait. Is that the guy I heard about?”

Coulson nodded. “Banner.” He peeked around the corner again and watched as the green hulking creature that Banner turned into batted one guard out of the way and picked Garrett up by the head, squishing it between his fingers. Coulson flinched and swallowed thickly. He pressed himself against the wall again and waved as Hill approached. “Good news. Know how you didn’t like Garrett?”

Hill stared at him, her gun pointed at the ground. Blood was splattered across her cheek, and her ponytail was in disarray. “Dead?” She pursed her lips as if she didn’t want to take pleasure in the destruction of a coworker. A traitorous one, however... “One less thing we have to worry about, then. Where’s the Ki-” She sighed as Banner roared again and moved forward. “Out of the way, Coulson.” She swept around the corner, gun raised.

Coulson followed, Akela on his heels. Banner was already in the office, and Thor was flying toward them, his hammer leading the charge. “You didn’t let me tell you _how_ Garrett died.”

Hill ignored him and nodded to Thor. She barely glanced at Garrett’s headless body and led the way into the room. She stared as Banner quickly sat behind a chair. The rest of the room was decorated with bullet holes but was also noticeably, worrisomely, empty. “What happened?” she demanded.

“I- I don’t know. I heard the gunshots and let the other guy take over, and then I was here, and no one else was-” He hunkered as low as he could behind the desk and tried to pull something closer with his foot.

Maria watched as torn fabric disappeared around the corner of the desk. She recognized the purple sweats from the gym. “Are you- are you _naked?_ ” Maria demanded.

Banner hunched over. “They got stretched out too much during the transformation and fell off.”

Coulson coughed politely into his hand. “Could you be naked somewhere else? Another chair, perhaps? The King sits there.”

Banner quickly moved to kneel on the floor, careful to make sure that he stayed behind the desk as much as possible.

Hill rolled her eyes and sighed. “Thor, Banner. The usurpers here are manageable, and it’s obvious that our king is elsewhere. Find him.” She took the box from her hip and started fiddling with the buttons. “He’s either at the base or at Buckingham. If he isn’t at the base, Phillips can send you to Buckingham. Clear?”

Banner nodded. “Yeah. Betty’s with Hand. Can you-”

“We’ll keep an eye on her,” Coulson confirmed. “Nothing will happen to her on our watch.”

Appeased, Banner relaxed.

Thor looked to Coulson. “And Jane as well.”

Coulson nodded. Never had he been so glad for his Supernanny marathons.

Hill didn’t say anything more; she merely gave each man a meaningful look before pressing a final button. Thor and Banner winked out of sight.

*

Sharon fell hard on sand and rolled away from the the soldier who’d been grabbing at her as she’d blindly pressed buttons on the teleporter. She kicked behind her as a shot whistled past her ear. Her foot connected; the soldier grunted and doubled over, and Sharon twisted and wrenched his gun from his hand. She shot him and turned, shooting two more of the men.

She panted as she watched Sam and James fight. Their military training was evident. Sam had drawn a knife and used it to get one of the men’s guns before throwing the knife and catching another man in the throat. James punched three of the men with his new arm and picked up a rifle. She seemed to be the only one whose hands were shaking; training with Clint and the others were one thing, but their warnings that training wasn’t like real life had not prepared her for taking a human life.

Sharon took a deep breath to steady herself and pointed to a rifle at James’ feet. She held out her hand, and he handed it to her before wiping some blood from her cheek as Sam finished the other men behind him.

“No offense, your majesty, but _who trusted you with that?_ ” Sam demanded as he checked his ammo. Sharon quickly turned off the teleportation box and gave him a look, and Sam twisted to check on James. “You okay?”

James nodded and checked his own gun. “Felt good to hit something.” Though they were done fighting, Sharon could still hear gunfire somewhere nearby. She could get sick of that sound, she thought.

Sharon continued to sit on the ground and get her breath back. First Rumlow, then a gunfight in James’ office. What else was she going to have to deal with today? Wait. They were on sand. And there was gunfire nearby... No. No, no, no. “Oh, no,” she murmured. She turned in the direction of the gunfire and crawled up the dune. She groaned and shook her head. “This is not my day.” Below them, hordes of people dressed in black were attacking a small contingent of people in military fatigues. She could make out one blue uniform in particular.

James and Sam joined her before looking at each other.

“You are _not_ going down there,” Sam said, voice firm.

James grunted.

“ _No,_ ” Sam said again.

James looked at Sharon, and she nodded, setting the rifle in place on the dune and peering through the scope. Her hands trembled slightly, but there was no way she would sit aside while her people died for her. “We’ll stay,” James agreed, doing the same.

Sharon glanced at Sam. “Royals know how to hunt, Sam. We get in trouble for it a lot.” She’d just... try not to think of them as people until now. Survive first, then deal, as Natasha would say.

James snorted and shot one of the soldiers giving orders. “Not in America, we don’t.”

She glared at him, peered through her scope again, and took out a soldier about to shoot one of the people in fatigues. It turned out she didn’t feel so bad shooting someone when they were about to kill someone else, she realized darkly. “That’s because you’re a bunch of uncivilized assholes.”

“Sam? Would you mind getting us the rest of the guns?”

Sam glared at both of them. “You think I can’t shoot, too?”

They both looked up at him. “I was trained as a sniper,” James pointed out. He turned to Sharon.

She took another shot before looking back at them. “My bodyguard trained me in guns. I’m not as good as Barton is, but I’m definitely better than James.”

“Fighting words,” James muttered. He took another shot.

“I’d feel terrible making the regent of a baby country cry,” Sharon murmured, shooting twice this time. “Oh, wait. No. Your childish antics amuse me. Come on, baby country king. Cry for me.”

James shook his head. “Why do you have to turn everything into a competition?”

“Spoken like someone whose oldest palace is less than three hundred years old.”

Sam sighed and lined up guns and rifles alongside either of them. “Stay. Here. I’m going to go get help or- or something. Do _not_ teleport out, understand?” He tossed sand at Sharon until she turned to face him. “Understand?”

She rolled her eyes. “Sir, yes, sir.”

“I don’t want to come back and find you teleported the pair of you into another firefight, understand?”

She grumbled. “I’ve got it, I’ve got it.”

He stared at her until he realized she wasn’t going to look away and shook his head. She was even more stubborn than Steve had described. “Stay. Here.”

Once Sam had gone and it was safe, James snorted. “I can’t believe Natasha let you use the teleporter.”

“I can’t believe no one trusted you with a teleporter of your own,” Sharon snapped. “That’s it. If I shoot more people than you, United States becomes a part of the United Kingdom again. Go.”

James, about to make a retort, realized she’d just shot three people and hurried to shoot four.

*

Ward couldn’t imagine what could scream like that. The sound was so loud that plaster fell from the ceiling, and he stepped back to hurriedly press himself against the wall and lifted his gun. Damn May. His ribs were on fire. Ward had been the top of his class. How the hell had May managed to get the drop on him?

Well, after his fight with Romanoff, he’d just been tired, hadn’t he? He’d been so close to killing her, too... If he’d only had a couple more seconds...

Still, whatever device he’d managed to grab from May had gotten him out and given him a chance to regroup.

He moved silently down the hall, the plush carpet beneath his feet disguising any sound from his boots. Blue carpet. White plaster. And, yes. That was an eagle engraved in the ceiling, arrows in one talon and an olive branch in the other. He knew where he was.

 _She_ was here. But where? She wouldn’t be in her room; they wouldn’t have given her a good room. Servants’ quarters were like prison cells - few knew that better than he. And Skye wasn’t the sort to want to hang out in a prison cell. No, she’d go somewhere else. They wouldn’t have given her an office, and the place didn’t have a computer lab. Coulson or Hill... She’d mentioned them both. But she’d mentioned Coulson more. Now where...

By the time he found the right office, the screaming had stopped. There were people in the halls; he recognized some of them as American servicemen, but there were also members of the American Hydra offshoot, too. He avoided them and knocked softly on Coulson’s door, his gun at the ready in case Coulson was there with her. He turned the knob. Locked. Damn it. “Skye? Skye, open up.”

There was no sound from inside. He checked the hallway. Of course, it was possible she wasn’t inside after all, but he had to make sure before he looked for her elsewhere.

He took a breath, steadied himself, and rammed his shoulder into the door. Hydra had taught him how to manage and overcome pain, unlike the weak nobles. He’d heard how several of them had begged for their lives or cried as they’d died. No one with Hydra would ever be so pathetic.

It took two blows to get the door open, and he saw a lock of hair disappear behind the desk. He grinned to himself. Cute. At least she was good at computers.

“Skye, I’m not here to hurt you. I just want to talk.”

She didn’t answer. That was all right. He hadn’t expected her to.

“We’ve got the Queen on the run in England, Skye. She’s not going to last much longer. And King James won’t be in power much longer than she is.” He moved to the desk and knelt. “I’m trying to help you, Skye. No one will threaten you with going to prison ever again, no one will force you to do what they want you to just so you can have some semblance of freedom.” He leaned forward. “Skye?”

His veins felt like they were on fire, and the next thing he knew, she was running to the door, a taser clutched in her hand.

She was stopped by a man wearing a Hydra uniform, complete with the mask, and was he- was he carrying a child? Something about the girl looked familiar, too. The man grabbed her arms and held her still.

Ward grunted and pushed himself back up. “Don’t kill her,” he choked out. “Not unless she refuses.”

The man took one look at him, and then held the child out to Skye. “Hold her for a sec.”

He could have sworn he knew that voice...

In the next second, Ward found a foot on his neck pinning him to the ground. He reached for his weapon, and the man shot him in both arms.

“Skye. Are you okay?”

She gaped at him. “Antoine?”

Ward closed his eyes. Just his luck. Fucking royals.

*

Rhodey hit the ground swinging, his back to Tony’s. “JARVIS, show me what I’m working with here.” He locked onto targets for the the guns Tony had stored in his shoulder compartments and surveyed the list that JARVIS pulled up on the screen before his eyes. As weapon after weapon scrolled past, Rhodey decided that this was the best suit he’d ever worn. “Can you lock onto that energy that their guns are using?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Let’s do that. Anyone far enough away from our people, I want to throw some explosives at them. Let’s hit ‘em with Tony’s cherry bombs.”

He watched on the visor screen as JARVIS isolated Hydra agents with atomizing weapons who were far enough from Rhodey’s people and froze as compartments in his upper arms opened and spat out what looked like a series of harmless-looking globes. Through it all, he ignored the gunfire that rained on his suit.

The globes arced over the fighters to hit their targets. Cherry bombs, as Rhodey had taken to calling them, were small but highly explosive, and the resulting explosions from the guns blew wide craters into the sand and sent bodies flying.

“That looked like it hurt!” Rhodey scrolled for some more weapons to use. Better to hurt Hydra than let Hydra hurt their own people.

“I’m going up,” Tony told him.

“See ya,” Rhodey answered absently.

“And I can hear everything you say, by the way. Your mic’s on.”

“Wait, what?”

Tony launched himself into the sky. “Find Pepper. Make sure she’s safe.”

Rhodey fired off a couple more shots before he flew upward after Tony. An aerial view wouldn’t hurt.

Something silver flew toward them. “Tony?”

Tony hovered in the sky. “I see it. It looks kind of like my Mach I, but bigger. JARVIS? Enlarge.”

“Yes, sir.”

The silver suit continued to speed toward them.

“Doesn’t look like it’s slowing down,” Rhodey said before shooting some more Hydra soldiers.

“You just have to point out the obvious, don’t you?”

“Tony, I’m saying maybe you should move out of its way.”

Tony hovered to one side, then another. “Yeah, I think it’s locked on me.”

“Then get on the ground, Tony! JARVIS, lock a missile on the tin can.”

“Hitting it over our allies could result in collateral damage, sir.”

“Lock _on_ , JARVIS. Whatever will take that thing down without hurting anyone.”

“Yes, sir. Please wait while I pull a rabbit out of my hat.”

“TONY. WHY DID YOU MAKE HIM WITH ATTITUDE?”

Tony rose higher into the air as if considering something that Rhodey was _sure_ would be catastrophically stupid. “He grew into it,” he said distractedly. “Gonna try something. Be right back.” He shot upwards, and the silver streak that had been barreling toward him angled upward, too.

As the silver suit flew past, Rhodey could just make out the loud cry of, “TONNYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!”

Rhodey hung in the air for another second. He knew that voice. “Oh, _shit!_ JARVIS. After them. _Now._ ”

*

“What the hell are you doing here?” Nick demanded.

Sharon sighed with relief. “About to lose the colonies again. Have a gun I can borrow?”

“Two more for independence, Sharon,” Bucky told her as he fired off a couple more shots.

She glared at him. “Sam gave you the better guns.”

Nick stared down at her, nonplussed. “What. Are. You. Doing. Here,” he repeated.

Sharon groaned. Nick didn’t use that tone often. “Teleportation problems.” She spotted the figure behind him and gave a small wave. “Hi, Shuri.” As for the men dressed in white thobes behind Nick, she could only give a polite nod. She was almost afraid to imagine what they might think of a queen with blood on her face, unkempt hair, and a wrinkled dress.

Shuri crossed her arms and looked down at Sharon, amused. “Sharon.”

Nick shook his head. “Well, you’ll be glad to know that thanks to Shuri, my mission was a success. Now.” He grabbed Sharon’s ankle and pulled her unceremoniously down the sand dune. “You, too, King James. Time for you two to play it safe while other people take over.”

Sharon glanced at James; if he hadn’t been a king, she would have said he was sulking. He handed his gun to one of the men, and she poked him in the ribs. “Ha.”

“Whatever. I still won. No taxation without representation, your Majesty.”

“Did you guys actually start treating Puerto Rico differently while I was kidnapped? I must have missed it.”

On either side of them, the men Fury had brought with him settled along the dune and prepared their rifles.

“Anybody you see in black uniforms with those blue guns, shoot ‘em,” Fury directed.

Sharon moved closer to James as gunshots rang out. After a moment, she rested her head on his shoulder. “I’m glad I teleported to your place and didn’t die.”

He wrapped an arm around her and scanned the horizon for any threats. “Me, too. You’re stubborn enough I never would have gotten your blood out of the carpet. I’m a little concerned where Pierce got off to, though.”

She chuckled. “He’s still at your place. He jumped out of a window.” She looked sheepish for a moment. “The floor’s a good vantage point.”

He laughed. A thought occurred to him, and he laughed more. “I can’t wait until my people catch him.” His features darkened. “Sharon. If we get out of this, we’re making a treaty. No war between our countries. No war at all if we can help it.”

She nodded and poked him in the ribs with an elbow. “I’m tired of the Royal Treasury being empty all the time, too.” To show she understood what he meant, though, or at least that she had some vague understanding of what he’d gone through because of the War, she found his hand with hers and gave it a squeeze. “No war if we can help it,” she promised.

In the back of her mind, Peggy’s words echoed. Never make a promise you know you can’t keep.

She rested her head on James’ shoulder again. She’d broken promises before, made promises she shouldn’t have made before. She’d deal with the repercussions of this one when the time came.

*

“Welcome to the field of battle, my friend!” Fandral shouted as Thor cleared a path with his hammer. Behind him, Banner leveled soldiers as if they were children’s blocks. Hogun swung his mace and threw several the black-clad men back amongst their brethren.

“I apologize for my tardiness,” Thor said in greeting. “I was led to believe the battle would not start until after lunch.”

“Figures you’d be late!” Sif swung her sword, keeping close to Izzy. Though Izzy’s forearm had been bandaged, the woman had insisted on staying to fight. Sif had developed a large amount of respect for Midgardian women. “Who’s your friend?”

“Dr. Banner,” Thor replied. “Though he is not so fond of the name in this form.”

Sif nodded in approval as more men were hurled away. “I like this Dr. Banner. No matter what he calls himself.”

Volstagg batted men away as if they were fleas, his club swinging as if he didn’t have a care in the world. “Most importantly, my friend. What were you saying about lunch?”

*

Steve held Pepper close as he spun and kicked one of the men. He didn’t dare throw the shield now that he was protecting Pepper; he needed it to keep her from getting hurt. She’d never signed up for this.

“Oh my God,” Pepper breathed.

He glanced at her, worried, and then followed her gaze upwards. “Is that-”

“Tony,” she confirmed. “And Rhodey.”

Steve made a face. It figured Stark would do something flashy. “Who’s the third guy?”

“I don’t know. But it looks like he’s trying to kill them.” She blinked. “It’s Stane. It has to be Stane. It couldn’t be anybody else.” She bit her lip and kept her eyes upwards.

Steve noticed a shift on the battlefield and looked around. The explosions earlier had bought them some breathing room. Snipers on the dunes were helping keep the atomizing guns out of play. But this... He frowned. The soldiers were stepping into line again, surrounding themselves around one man. Who the hell was he supposed to be?

With no pomp or circumstance, the man peeled off his life-like mask. Underneath his features were red, like the skin had been melted off. Steve couldn’t even be sure the man had a nose. But if there was one thing he knew, it was that this was the man in charge. If he could stop this man, he could stop the War.

“Ms. Potts,” he said slowly. “I’m going to have to hand you off to somebody while I take care of something.”

She looked at him quickly, then followed his line of sight. “Uh... Sure. Banner. I think he might like me.”

“Even like he is now?”

She shrugged. “I’m safer with him than with the Hydra goons.”

It wasn’t a rousing endorsement, but Steve had to trust her judgement. He fought his way over to Banner and raised his shield as Banner pulled his arm back to punch them both.

Banner froze, and Steve cautiously lowered his shield.

“Can you look after Ms. Potts?” Steve shouted.

Banner looked at Pepper for several seconds and then very carefully held a finger out to Pepper.

Steve wondered if Pepper was as relieved as he was, but if Pepper had been nervous at all, she didn’t show it. She took Banner’s finger even though her hand couldn’t cover the whole thing and smiled as she thanked him. She nodded to Steve over her shoulder, and he nodded back before turning away.

*

Darcy opened the door at the knock and whistled. “Whoa. Mr. Pierce. What happened?”

Pierce quickly combed his fingers through his hair. “Political disagreement.”

“You give as good as you got?”

“I like to think so.”

Darcy nodded. “Cool. What can I help you with?”

“Are doctors Selvig and Foster here?”

Darcy nodded and moved aside. “Come on in. They’re working on something, but they can use a break. You know how Erik can get.”

“Of course.” Pierce stepped inside and closed the door behind him. “The King mentioned he and Dr. Foster were working on teleportation devices. It _was_ Selvig and Foster working on it, correct? I can’t imagine anyone else could pull it off.”

She led him deeper into the lab. “Flattery will get you everywhere, Mr. Pierce.”

“Please. You can call me Alex.”

He heard a soft whirring from behind him and turned to see Victoria Hand standing in front of Ross, Selvig, and Foster. She held an inordinately large gun at her hip, and it was currently lighting up.

“I’m just going to call you ‘Under arrest,'” she told him. She nodded to Darcy, and Darcy quickly got out of the way.

“You know,” Darcy said, “if this is how things are going to be from now on, I might have to get an intern of my own.”

Selvig, currently wearing nothing and eating cereal, shrugged. “I’m fine with that.”

*

“How are you alive?” Skye demanded.

Trip pulled off his helmet. “Met a vet at the hospital who used to have a car like James’. Thought I’d be nice and let him take it for a spin. Saw the Hydra guys too late.” He shrugged and set about binding Ward to the desk. “Took one of them out and got their uniform. At the time, I thought it was just a way of staying alive until I could get back to the palace, and then I realized how useful it could be.”

He nodded to the girl in Skye’s arms. “Wasn’t long before I heard they were going to go after Rikki. Half her security detail was Hydra. Wasn’t going to let them get one of my last three relatives.” He smiled and plucked Rikki from Skye’s arms. She giggled as he tossed her in the air a couple times before setting her on his hip again. He nodded to Skye. “Looks like you could have managed without me, though.”

Skye launched herself at him, wrapping him and Rikki both in a tight hug.

He chuckled and hugged her with his free arm. “I missed you, too. So what did I miss on this end?”

She wiped her eyes and then laughed. “Remember Steve? Rogers? Have I got a picture to show you.”

*

“You ruined everything, Tony!” Stane shouted. Unlike Tony, Stane wasn’t plugged in to JARVIS, and Tony wouldn’t have been able to hear him at all if JARVIS hadn’t been isolating and magnifying his voice. “My company! My work! You think I liked having a little shit like you on my payroll?”

“My dad didn’t like it, either,” Tony told him, “and it was _his_ company. It’s got his name on it.” A little higher. All he needed to do was go a little higher.

“Your dad was a fool!” Stane snapped. “What sort of idiot doesn’t notice his engine’s been rigged? With one of his discontinued designs, no less! Some engineer he turned out to be!”

“That’s funny,” Tony said, still zooming upward. “Given that you’re not an engineer.”

“I’m smart enough to repair your old designs, Tony! Did you think I couldn’t do it?”

Tony grinned. “Not with that outdated system. Couple things. One, this is for my dad.” He slowed down enough to let Stane shoot past, reaching out and tearing part of the suit as it went by.

“That was my weapons system, you little prick!”

“Two,” Tony continued, putting on more speed and heading straight up. “Engineers have to plan ahead. Did you plan, Obi?”

“About how I’m going to kill you? In great detail!”

Tony slowed down and pointed at the frost forming at the silver suit’s feet. “No, about the icing problem.”

“What icing- YOU LITTLE PRICK!”

“Yeah, well. The real fun part is how you’ve got so far to fall.” Tony moved to stop Rhodey before he could fly past the safe zone, ignoring Stane as his suit began to short out. “Rhodey. I thought you were shooting things! Or fighting. Whatever it is you military people do.”

“I was worried about you, you idiot! How many times do I have to tell you that you don’t have to do this stuff alone?”

“Come on, Rhodey. How often do I need help?”

Hundreds of feet below, Pepper jumped as Stane and the metal suit hit the ground with a loud, sickening thud. She wrapped her arm around Banner’s leg and pointed as fear gave way to anger. “Hulk! Smash!”

Tony watched from above as Banner grabbed Stane’s leg and whacked him against the floor again and again like a rag doll. “Never mind. I want his help.” He flew downwards. “That’s Dr. Banner, right? I bet he’d be fun to work with. Could probably keep up, too.”

Rhodey hovered in the air for another second before dropping to the ground. “Unbelieveable,” he muttered.

*

Sam wasn’t going near the battlefield armed with only a pistol. He shouldn’t have left so many guns with James and the queen. Hell, maybe he shouldn’t have left them at all, but with the teleporter acting up, he wasn’t going to risk one or both of them disappearing without him. And that meant getting help.

And getting help meant getting armed.

He found Phillips’ tent and let himself in. He knew about the plan to send Phillips some of the more creative weapons. If there were such weapons left anywhere on base that Sam could borrow, they would be here.

Gadgets of various sizes were strewn across the room. The thing that drew his eye, though, was a jetpack. Sam had been a pilot on his last tour, but he’d always wondered what it would be like to fly without a plane. He and Riley had half-jokingly sent a request to their superior about it. Supposedly, the request had worked its way up the line and gotten Stark’s interest, but he and Riley had thought their superior had been joking right back at them.

He looked the jetpack over and experimentally tugged it on. He pulled a lever at the bottom of the pack, and wings almost as wide as he was tall burst out, tearing a hole in the wall of the tent.

He quickly found the instruction manual and another knife - he’d have to get a real gun in the field. He shook his head as he tested the wings. “Riley... Wish they’d had these when you were around, man.”

*

James ducked his head under the dune as Nick snapped at him again.

“Stop pissing him off,” Sharon grated.

“They’re losing,” James snapped back. “They need to convene on the red guy. He’s got control of the battlefield, and we need to take that away from him.”

Sharon hesitated, then crept up to join him. She kept her head just below the dune. “I’m sure they’ll get to it, James. We trusted them with this job, remember?”

He made a face. “We have Asgardians, a super soldier, a Stark, and whatever Banner is. We’re still struggling, and Hydra is regrouping. They need something to rally around. They can’t keep playing it safe. If we sit around and wait, we’ll just end up watching them kill our people again.”

“Again?” Sharon frowned at him, and he looked away so he wouldn’t have to see the pity in her eyes. “James-”

“The teleporter,” he said abruptly. “Let me see it.”

Her frown deepened, and she clutched the teleporter to her chest. 

Above them, Fury cursed. One of the men he’d brought with him disappeared in a cloud of blue smoke. “Looks like they figured out we’re here. You know what to do.” He turned and looked over at Sharon and James. “You two, get out of here. Get back to Buckingham.”

Sharon’s eyes widened as she saw one of the black helmets come over the dune. “Nick, look out!” She jumped over James in an effort to get to Nick, but James wrapped an arm around her and pulled her back. Nick spun to shoot the man at the crest of the dune, and James reached for the teleporter, hitting Sharon’s hand against the dial.

The next thing either of them knew, they were looking up at men in black uniforms, many of whom had just turned guns on them.

Sharon dropped her head on his shoulder. “You. Fucking. _Asshole._ ”

*

Lance grabbed Bobbi, and she stumbled out of the way as a blue streak flew past her.

She used her staves and took out another of their agents. “Thanks.”

He looked at her blankly, as if he hadn’t even been paying attention, and then looked away. She followed his gaze and cursed. “PHILLIPS!” She pointed toward the crowd of Hydra soldiers surrounding the two royals.

Phillips shot another soldier and looked up before uttering a curse of his own. “LINE UP!” he ordered his men. Many of them were already dead, but the ones who could started moving nearer to one another. “You gotta kill someone to get in line, you do it!”

“Sir-”

He shook his head. “I wade us into that, we’re gonna be surrounded, Morse. I can’t keep my people alive if we’re surrounded by thousands of people. We’ll have to clear a trail the old-fashioned way.”

Bobbi pursed her lips. “Yes, sir.” She paused, then sprinted into the Hydra soldiers, hitting anyone who slowed her down. Behind her, she could hear Lance shouting, but she ignored him. If they did this Phillips’ way, the monarchs could be dead by the time they reached them. Bobbi couldn’t live with herself knowing she’d let that happen. On the other hand, the other option seemed to be not living at all.

Worse things, she supposed, giving another soldier a whack with her staves.

*

“‘We have to risk our lives now, Sharon!’ ‘We can’t let them play it safe, Sharon!’ ‘We can’t trust them to win a fucking battle without us being stupid pricks!'” Sharon kicked James in his leg. “This is why no one likes America!”

James grunted at the kick. “I’ll add it to the list.” Despite her anger, he could see that her hands were shaking, and he could also see the fear in her eyes no matter how much she tried to hide it. Her fear actually made him feel better. Stronger. Braver. Not that he’d ever tell her that.

Her fear also wakened his anger. These men might kill him, sure, and he knew he ought to be as afraid as he had been that day. He should be as afraid as he had been in his nightmares ever since.

But these were the people who had done that to his family. His friends. He wasn’t going to let them do it to anyone again. None of his people, none of his friends, were ever going to be killed while he watched helplessly ever again. He wasn’t weak or naive this time. He was a king with an arm that was... well. Armed to the shoulder, for lack of a better phrase.

This time, despite the anger and the tendril of fear that still existed, he was ready.

*

Natasha stopped wrapping the bandage around her leg and took a deep breath. “Say that again.”

“We haven’t seen her,” Coulson said calmly, mentally resolving to rewrite his will, and soon. Natasha’s voice didn’t indicate he’d have a long and happy life. “The King and Wilson are gone. Maybe she was with them.”

“If they didn’t teleport there, and they didn’t teleport here,” Natasha said, speaking very slowly so Coulson could understand, “that leaves one place they could be.”

“Me and my people will teleport there immediately,” Coulson assured her. “We have the uprising’s leader and have already taken care of many of his associates.”

Natasha ran through the list of who had teleporters on her side of the pond and growled into the phone. “Pick us up.”

“Pardon?”

“Pick us up!” Natasha snapped. “All of our teleporters are out of play.” She slammed the phone down as Coulson started tsking her.

*

“You’re taking responsibility for this!” Sharon demanded. “Everybody’s going to blame me just because I ended up in the middle of a gunfight the first time I teleported and next to one the second time, but this was all you, Barnes!”

“Fine, fine. Jesus. You Carters are too damn temperamental.”

“What did you- Do you want to rethink that?”

“What are you going to do?” James countered. “Get us into another damn firefight?”

“Maybe I will! More fun than continuing this conversation!”

James glared at her. “I’d rather shoot people, too, Sharon, but this _isn’t the damn time!_ ”

She stuck a finger in his face. “Americans. Always ‘Shoot shoot shoot!’ until you’re fucked and then it’s all, ‘Hang on a second!’ You _would_ choose now to say that! Looks like a pretty damn good time to me, Barnes!”

*

“THOR!” Steve shouted, throwing his shield, punching, and catching it again. He pointed toward the enemy soldiers. “James!”

Thor lifted his head, trusting Volstagg and Hogun to cover him while he surveyed the scene. James had been captured. On the other side, Phillips was trying to gather his men. He pointed Mjolnir toward Phillips. “Protect them as best you can. I’ll help the King.”

The only sign that they had heard was how they started fighting their way to Phillips and his men. Thor swung his hammer and took off.

*

“What part of ‘Do not teleport’ was so hard to understand?” Sam demanded of no one in particular. It wasn’t difficult to see James and Sharon in the middle of the Hydra infantry; they and the red-headed guy were the only ones who weren’t wearing helmets.

About to swoop down, he was cut off by a red and gold suit. “What the- Stark?”

A silver suit fell past next. “Officer Wilson.”

“ _Colonel Rhodes?_ ”

Sam hovered for a moment before realizing where they were headed. He dropped into formation with them and flew toward the Hydra soldiers.

*

“You’re not coming?” Coulson asked May.

She shook her head. “Natasha won’t stay so long as the queen is trouble, and someone has to hold down the fort.”

Coulson watched as Antoine fought with Natasha about whether or not he was going to the battle, and he clasped his hands in front of him as he waited. He doubted either of them would let the fight continue for more than a couple seconds. “So... Fitz and Simmons...”

May didn’t bother saying no. She rarely bothered with words when a look would suffice.

He met her eyes and nodded. “Okay. Might want to step back when we teleport. There have been... issues.”

She gave him another look, and he nodded again.

“Good talk.” And with that, he went silent.

*

Sharon glared at the Hydra soldier who was dragging her toward the man with the red mask. “If you don’t let go of my arm, you miserable piece of shit, I swear to God I’ll have you drawn and-”

“ _Sharon._ ” James shook his head. “Not yet, okay?”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, right. _Now_ the Americans want to wait before enacting violence!”

He made a face at her. “Like you English are any better.”

“What are you going to do? Pour tea into your little harbor again?”

He brushed off the soldier who was trying to drag him to their leader and spun to face her. “Your tea tastes like crap, and you serve cucumber sandwiches with it! What, you think the taste of cucumber is going to hide how horrible all the food in your country is? You can’t even get fast food right!”

“BECAUSE WE TAKE PRIDE IN OUR SHITTY CUSTOMER SERVICE, JAMES!” She didn’t seem angry, though, and instead looked at him as if she were waiting on something.

He shook his head. “I’d actually forgot that part. Anyway... Sure. _Now’s_ the time.” He spun and punched one of the soldiers, sending him crashing into the five soldiers behind him.

Sharon’s punch wasn’t so strong, but she managed to pull a soldier’s gun away and start shooting. She yelped as shots rained down from above, and James automatically pulled her closer before registering Stark, Rhodes, and Sam attacking from above.

Sam touched down nearby and ducked as Steve’s shield cut through the crowd. “WHAT THE HELL DID I TELL YOU TWO?” He twisted and fought a Hydra soldier for control of a gun.

“He did it!” Sharon snapped.

“She did it!” James said at the same time.

“Are you two children or what?” Sam hit a soldier with the butt of the gun before shooting.

Seconds later, Steve joined them, catching his shield and spinning to hit one of the other soldiers. “What the hell are you doing here?” he demanded.

“He did it!”

“ _She_ did it!”

Sam spared a moment to roll his eyes at Steve. “Teleportation problems.”

Steve jumped back as Thor’s hammer ripped through the soldiers. He looked over his shoulder to the man in the red mask and threw his shield. They couldn’t let the leader get away.

The man caught it.

Sam gaped, and only Bobbi rushing in and hitting a soldier with her staves saved him from getting shot. “Shit,” Sam said.

*

The small group landed on uneven terrain, and Clint had to pull himself from sand that came up to his knees. He reached out to steady Natasha. “Told you not to come,” he told her as she flinched at his touch on her arm.

“She was too busy yelling at me to listen,” Antoine offered, hoisting his rifle to his shoulder. He cursed as he scanned the scene with his scope. “Phillips is trapped to the South, Nick’s pinned down in the West, and-” He glanced at Natasha. “Sharon and James are in the North with the Skull.”

“The Skull?” Coulson echoed. “Who came up with that?”

“You get close enough to see him, you’ll see why ‘Red Skull’ fits.” Antoine set a hand on Natasha’s shoulder before she could set off. “Steve, Sam, and some others are with them. Take Victoria with you. Her gun might come in handy.”

“Not to mention my sunny demeanor,” Victoria agreed, nodding in the direction of the fighting. As soon as Clint and Antoine let go of her, Natasha sprinted toward the fight as fast as her injuries would allow.

Antoine shook his head. “Clint, Nick’s got a good vantage point. Take Akela and go help him out, then hold that point. Coulson, you and I are helping out Phillips.”

Orders given, they separated.

*

The man set the shield on his arm and sneered down at them. Sam scowled and didn’t waste time in picking Steve up and launching himself into the air. “Double-team?” he asked. It occurred to him that he and Steve had never fought before; he had never even seen Steve train. All he really knew was that this wasn’t the ninety-pound weakling he’d met at the palace. He was _heavy._

Steve looked below at the fight and saw James fighting his way to the man, too, dragging Sharon with him. He shook his head. Just the world’s luck that they’d have two monarchs who constantly forgot they were monarchs until someone offended their pride. “Yeah. Double-team.”

“Triple-team.” Stark fell in beside them. “Nice wings, Wilson, but if you’re trying to look like a Victoria’s Secret model, I’ve got some bad news...”

“You’re a laugh a minute, Stark.”

He spotted Rhodes flying in fast behind the- no, it wasn’t a red-headed man, it was a man with a face that was entirely red, as if the skin had been burned off. If Rhodes noticed, it didn’t throw him off; he barrelled into the man and knocked him down amongst the soldiers.

“At least I know how to throw a party,” Stark said amiably.

*

“Not a bad shot,” Clint complimented as Akela managed to shoot five of the soldiers pinning Nick down. He fired some arrows, each one hitting their mark.

“Thank you,” she answered, in a voice that was far too polite.

Clint grinned. He knew that “too polite” meant “secretly thinking bad thoughts about you,” and he was curious what she was thinking of him. This wasn’t the time to ask, though. He kept shooting.

“How many arrows do you have?” she demanded.

“Almost out,” he admitted. “You know what’s kind of funny?”

“What?” She let him cover for her while she restocked her ammo.

“I’m actually just as good with a gun. I just think the bow and arrow are more fun and require more skill and, you know, grace.” He shot his last arrow and let Akela cover him as he walked to where a soldier had dropped his gun. He grinned at her as he tested its heft and quickly shot the rest of the men who were attacking Nick’s men. “I’m scary good either way, is what I’m trying to say.”

*

“Weren’t you dead?” Phillips demanded as Antoine fought his way over.

“Yes, sir. But you know how the Carter blood is.”

Phillips smiled grimly. “Stubborn asses. Yeah. Who’s your friend?”

Antoine shot a Hydra soldier over Phillips’ shoulder. “Phil Coulson. American.”

“Hello, sir,” Coulson called, sounding as if he were giving the conversation his undivided attention despite how he was fighting two men at once.

Phillips grunted in response and looked to the fight on the sand dune. It looked like it had turned. “PRESS FORWARD!” he shouted.

He wasn’t surprised when the first people to let loose a war cry were Sif and the Warriors Three.

“Did I miss something?” Antoine asked, following orders even as he cast a confused glance toward the Asgardians.

“Lord Triplett, I’m not even sure I know what’s going on these days.”

*

The Hulk kept one arm wrapped around Pepper as he waded through the soldiers. His work with Stane had taught him a trick, and he was clubbing soldiers against the ground or even into other soldiers. It wasn’t pretty, but it did the trick.

“There!” Pepper said, pointing as she spotted the King. The Hulk waded toward him; she supposed some part of him still wanted to protect the King. Pepper, however, had finally spotted Tony. If she was going to be in a firefight, she didn’t know why, but she wouldn’t feel safer anywhere than with him.

It was Tony who spotted them and flew over, blasting some of the soldiers in the face before landing nearby. “ _No,_ ” he said firmly. He pressed a button on his suit, and the teleporter slid out of a compartment on his elbow. “Pep? You’re going home.”

“Tony! I can’t just leave without y-”

Tony pressed the button, and once again, Pepper found herself falling. She landed hard on something metal and groaned.

“Are you okay?” a woman asked, appearing over Pepper’s face. Her face was soon replaced by a man with black hair and a chef’s hat. He looked from her to the large vent above her as if she might have just fallen out of it.

“Um. Okay.”

“I’m Beth,” the woman said. “And this is Happy. Are you Hydra?”

“No,” she said emphatically, forcing herself to sit. “I’m Pepper Potts. Tony Stark’s personal assistant.”

Beth and Happy looked at each other.

“That doesn’t actually mean much to us,” Happy admitted. “Maybe we can discuss it over drinks? I’ll get the wine. And you might as well help us eat while you’re here,” he said grumpily. “Half the palace has turned traitor or taken off somewhere anyway.”

Beth rolled her eyes and shrugged at Pepper. “I’ll call security and have them check on you. I’m sure everything’s fine, we’ll just have to check.”

“I understand,” Pepper said, masking her frustration with the world and with Tony in particular. “Red wine, please.”

*

One of the soldiers grabbed Sharon’s gun and tried to shake her loose. She hung on tighter and kicked the man in the midriff. He hunched over, but then an unmistakeable figure jumped on his back and jabbed something into his neck, and he fell.

“Are you kidding me?” Sharon demanded, staring at Natasha’s bandages.

Natasha growled at her, evidently in less mood for talk than usual, and turned to fight another soldier, then another.

Sharon turned away, sticking her gun in a soldier’s face and firing. As the man fell and she wiped the blood from her face again, she saw Phillips’ men making their way toward the group. She recognized one of the figures in particular. “ARE YOU KIDDING ME?” she demanded again.

Something hit her in the back of her head, and she fell forward, grunting as she caught herself tried to push herself back up. Someone grabbed the back of her neck and lifted. “You should have signed them!”

She recognized that voice. She could never forget that voice. The voice with the German accent. Her fingers clawed at his hand, and she kicked fruitlessly behind her.

“For your impudence, I shall burn your damned country!” the voice continued, and Sharon whimpered as the hand tightened its grip. Belatedly, she tried to twist the gun to shoot him, but the gun was wrenched from her fingers.

“Hey, pal!”

Sharon fell to the side as the man let her go, and she pushed herself back up, coughing and whimpering. She found Natasha already covering her on one side. Bobbi Morse was on another, and her ex-husband... Hunter? Right. Hunter was on another. She gasped for breath and looked around as she got her bearings back.

James glared at the man, his metal hand bloody. “Want to mess with someone your own size?”

The man straightened. “You are beneath me, boy.”

Steve’s shield flew out of the crowd and hit the man in the back of the head. “I couldn’t disagree more.”

Victoria stepped in and took aim with her ridiculously large gun. “I actually missed the conversation, but I know who to shoot. How about you surrender?”

Steve caught his shield and set it on his arm, but it was evident from how he looked at the man that he could have the shield at the man’s throat at a second’s notice.

The man smirked, but after several seconds, he lifted his hands into the air.

Across the sand dunes, the remaining Hydra soldiers did the same.

They held their positions as the soldiers dropped their weapons and the Allies’ soldiers arrested them one by one. They found that they had help; Shuri worked with the men in shobes to find places to hold the prisoners as well as provide water and fruit for the tired soldiers. 

Fury forced his way through the crowd, snapping orders for Sharon, James, and Antoine to teleport home and wait for him there. Natasha half-smirked at the thought of the lecture the royals would get and took the teleporter from Sharon.

Sharon plucked it back. “If you don’t mind, you have no idea how much I need to do this and _not_ end up in a firefight.”

Antoine frowned at her. “Is there something I should kn-”

They winked out of sight, and Steve looked around as Fury cuffed the Skull and dragged him away. Something about this bothered him. “He surrendered way too easily,” he said at last.

Thor caught his hammer as it flew toward him and gave him a nod. “I can offer you some support there.”


	9. Denouement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end. Or is it?

Sharon watched as Amira Ahmed gave an update on Raza’s death. He’d been found the day after the final battle in the War, a single gunshot wound to the head. Authorities were still investigating which of Raza’s enemies might have been responsible; there seemed to be no shortage of suspects. News of his death wasn’t a surprise to Sharon; Nick had told her of it days ago as well as shared some of his educated guesses with her. He suspected Stane was behind it as some sort of petty revenge. After all, Raza had betrayed Stane by not killing Stark as ordered, and Stane had needed Raza to repair and update the Mach I. Of course, there was no way yet to prove that Stane was responsible, and with Stane’s list of other crimes, authorities likely wouldn’t consider it a priority.

She wasn’t sure if Ahmed or her news channel had made the connection between Raza and Stane or not, but the next segment was about Stane’s trial. The man himself was too busy recovering in a hospital to show up, but his secretary didn’t seem to mind testifying without him around. If anything, she seemed to enjoy the attention. Nick had told her Aldrich Killian was going to testify, too, although Nick thought it was just grandstanding. Something about the man grated Nick the wrong way, though he couldn’t put his finger one why. Sharon suspected he’d find out exactly what it was before long.

After that, Ahmed reminded viewers that Tony Stark had recently returned to take over Stark Industries but, in a highly unorthodox move, as befitted an eccentric genius, he’d made his personal assistant the next CEO. He’d also announced that Stark Industries was getting out of the weapons game, but with the advent of a new era of peace, it was likely the perfect time to do so. The King had used his new Director of Media Relations, Christine Everhart, to announce that the Palace was grateful for Stark’s loyalty and patriotism, and Stark Industries stock had finally started to tick upward again.

She turned off the television and listened absently as Simmons and Fitz argued across the room. Peggy and Angie sat with them, the older pair occasionally exchanging quiet looks as the other two talked. Despite her attempts to keep them all safe and out of the way during the fighting, a small contingent of Hydra agents had attacked the castle she’d holed them away in. Peggy had downplayed everything, of course, but there was still a bruise on the Duchess’s cheek, and between Peggy, the Commandos, Angie, and FitzSimmons’ experiments, Sharon was going to have to rebuild a small portion of the castle she’d been hoping would keep them safe. At least Angie was excited about redecorating the place, and Peggy had already ventured to ask Sharon about the possibility of hiring Angie as an official decorator. Sharon had countered with the offer of making Angie a Lady-in-Waiting, which meant giving her a title first, and was having papers drawn up to give Angie the castle they had damaged, as well as another that wouldn’t need so many repairs. With so few nobles, she had a surplus of castles that would need owners.

She leaned back in her chair and considered the current state of the palace and her aunt. For the time being, she had invited Angie and the rest of the Commandos to reside at the palace. And while she hoped that her aunt would stay, she suspected that Peggy would choose to retire soon and move to Kensington, if not go to one of Angie’s new residences as soon as it was official. Sharon would strongly hint to Peggy’s friends that they ought to go with her if and when it happened, but in the meantime, she was trying to enjoy time with her aunt as much as she could. She and Peggy had nearly lost each other too many times these past few months to do anything else.

Sharon moved to drop into the chair on Peggy’s other side, letting Angie keep her place of honor. “You’ll let them try, won’t you?” she asked quietly.

“Shoulders back, dear.” At Sharon’s rueful look, Peggy reached out and stroked her cheek. “I’d rather not live my last days as a guinea pig, Sharon.”

“That’s crap,” Angie said firmly. “You’ll be a pioneer, Peg. You always liked trailblazing, right?”

Peggy’s smile was slow and tinged with sadness. “I’m not _that_ easy to manipulate, Angie.”

“I have other ways.” Angie lifted her nose in the air. Carters might be stubborn, but Martinellis weren’t easy to push around, either.

Sharon leaned toward Peggy. “One day, I might have a child. I want you to remember who I am when that happens. I want you to be able to hold that child and know that it’s part of your family.”

Peggy hesitated. “We can’t all have miracles, Sharon. I’ve had a lot of luck in my time, most of it good. I can accept that my life is going to be what it will be. I’ve had a long life, and I think it’s been a good one as well. I’d like to enjoy what’s left of it, not worry about what it might become.”

Sharon stood and kissed Peggy on the cheek. “It’s going to be as kick-ass as it was earlier in your life, Aunt Peggy. Your body’s going to give out eventually, when you’re far, far older than you are now. Don’t let your mind beat you to it.”

“Is that an order?” Peggy asked wryly.

“If I have to give one, yes. But in the meantime, I’d like you to at least try, all right?”

Angie gripped Peggy’s shoulder, and Peggy covered it with a hand of her own. “What’ve you got to lose, Peg?”

Peggy smiled softly. After several seconds of no sound but Fitz and Simmons arguing, she cleared her throat. “I believe prefer Dr. Simmons’ theory, Dr. Fitz. STEM cells sound far better than electrodes in my brain.”

*

James knelt down in front of Rikki and glanced at Antoine over her shoulder. How was he supposed to interact with a child? He’d barely interacted with his little sister when she was alive; the age gap had been too great, and the one between himself and Rikki was even larger.

She looked at him shyly and turned to look at Antoine.

James grinned. It was obvious to see which relative she preferred. Unfortunately, Antoine was going to have to go back to England soon, and after Hydra had attacked Rikki, they had all agreed it was safest to bring her to the White Palace to grow up. “I’m James.”

“Rikki,” she muttered.

“That’s a cool name,” he told her. “I’ve got a secret name that people used to call me that I like to think is pretty cool, too. Want to hear it?”

She watched him curiously and finally gave a nod.

He leaned in. “It’s Bucky,” he said conspiratorially.

Sam snorted behind him, and James turned to glare at him.

“It’s a good nickname!”

“I’d like to see you survive high school with it,” Sam shot back.

Rikki giggled. “You’re weird,” she told him.

Antoine grinned. “Yes. He’s very weird. But he likes playing games when he’s got time, and a lot of other people here like games, too.”

“Really?” Her eyes brightened. “Like who?”

“We have a lot of people living here,” James told her. “A lot of them have kids. And even some of the grown-ups like play-” He cut himself off as he saw Coulson in the doorway. Victoria had warned him about Coulson’s Supernanny obsession, and without the option of recruiting any of Sharon’s people, the man had been asking a few too many questions about Rikki’s likes and dislikes, questions that not even James knew the answers to yet.

Coulson stepped inside. “So this is the legendary Rikki Barnes.”

“ _No,_ ” James told him firmly, surprised but pleased to hear Antoine and Sam chime in at the same time. 

Coulson stepped back. “That was a little uncalled for, don’t you think?”

“ _Out,_ ” James ordered.

“Sheesh. I’m going.” Coulson waved as Rikki grinned at him and disappeared down the hall.

James looked up at Sam. “Where’s Steve, anyway? I thought he’d be hanging out, too.”

Sam shrugged. “Said he’s got a project that’s overdue.”

*

Sharon returned from Phillips’ retirement ceremony and found Nick waiting in a seat in front of her desk. She nodded and took her seat, May following her like a shadow.

Nick watched her carefully. It wasn’t often Sharon asked to meet with him outside of their daily meetings. There didn’t seem to be much for him to do at present, either. T’Challa and Shuri had worked out strict peace treaties for all the countries, and everyone had begun to rebuild. All the leaders had agreed to blame the worst atrocities on Hydra and were being very careful to maintain the newfound peace; none of them wanted their people to think they had ruined it and that the citizens would have to fight in another war because of their government. The only troops Sharon had deployed had gone out to help nations in Europe and the Middle East with everything from buildings to irrigation. 

He scratched at his eye patch as she set her elbows on the desk. When he’d first met her, she’d barely come to his knee. Now there was no doubt who the power was in the room.

“Nick, you’re retiring.”

He clamped down on the surge of anger and indignation that threatened to burst forth. To force him into early retirement after all he’d done? He sure as hell deserved better than that! “Am I?”

“I need you elsewhere.”

“Do you,” he said flatly. He suppressed his anger, forcing himself to wait and see how this played out. She was up to something, he could tell. Of course, when _wasn’t_ she up to something these days? When she was younger, he and Peggy had taught her what they could, but now, even he was having trouble figuring out what she was up to. He’d expected a run-of-the-mill monarch. That she was potentially becoming more... That was Peggy’s influence.

“Hydra infiltrated the Axis, the Allies, the Ten Rings, and several other organizations around the world right under our noses. We’ve finally got a chance to make peace last long enough to not have another draft.”

“I noticed.” His voice was dry. She was turning out smart, as far as running the country went, but she had to realize he already knew all this. He was the one who’d given her the news in the first place.

She looked at him ruefully. “My point is that we can’t let it happen again. You’ve been this country’s spymaster for decades. Shuri - who would never condone this, by the way - introduced you to the people who have different powerful people’s ears. I want you to use what you know to start a world-wide spy agency, specifically to prevent things like this from happening ever again.”

“This agency got a name?”

“I can’t do everything for you, Nick.”

“Hm.” He shifted in his seat as he thought it over. “And who’s going to get my old job?”

“May. I like how she assesses things and is willing to use people.” She twisted to look at May. “Just don’t ever do that to me, got it?”

There was a faint ghost of a smile on May’s lips. “Of course not, your Majesty.”

Nick raised an eyebrow. “You’re not giving it to Natasha?”

Sharon frowned. “Natasha’s fiercely loyal. She’s mission-oriented, and I’m her mission. If I do right by her, hopefully I always will be. But May can see the big picture and change what needs to be changed. She’s loyal to the country first, not me. As much as I don’t like coming in second place, that’s what’s best for the country.” She tapped her fingers against the desk. “Also, I don’t think Natasha will be in the country for long.”

The eyebrow went up a little farther. “And where’s the start-up money for this venture coming from?”

“I’m going to talk to some other people at the UN about it, see what I can do. But in the meantime, I’m going to work it into the country’s budget. You’ll need people from as many countries as you can get, though. It has to be seen as impartial. A world agency. With people the world over in its ranks, keeping an eye on things.”

Nick nodded. “I have some people in mind. What about FitzSimmons?”

She bit her lip. “They’re working on something important right now...” He waited as she thought it over; he knew what FitzSimmons’ current project was. From what he’d heard, the initial tests had yielded positive results. Peggy certainly seemed more optimistic than when they’d first started. “I’ll ask them.”

“ _I’ll_ ask them.” Nick pushed himself to his feet. “No offense, Sharon, but I think if you talked to them, I’ll never get them. And I want a fighting chance.”

Her lips curled into a smile. “My, my, my. Look who’s finally getting smart about the spy game.”

He threw a rude gesture over his shoulder on his way toward the door.

*

“I really do appreciate the thought, Jane, but-”

“But _nothing,_ Bruce.” Jane looked to Betty, exasperated. “Is he always like this?”

“He doesn’t like a lot of attention,” Betty answered with a soft smile. Her eyes danced as she looked at Bruce over Jane’s shoulder. And this was a lot of attention for him. Jane, Erik, Darcy, Thor, Sif and the Warriors Three, all staring at him with various degrees of interest and curiosity. Being the focus of such attention was probably one of Bruce’s nightmares. 

“We’re past the point of caring about that.” Jane’s tone was firm. Thor, behind her, held up a finger as if to stop her, then thought better of it. “Betty and Erik are some of the most hard-working scientists I know, and you’re the world’s expert on gamma radiation. And I can pick up a bit here and there, too.” She blinked at their faintly amused expressions. “What? I can! You need a cure, don’t you?”

Bruce’s hand slid toward Betty’s, and she threaded their fingers together. The night before had been a stark reminder that he needed a cure, the sooner, the better. “Yeah.”

Darcy held up her hand. “Okay, whoa. If I can’t get my iPod back, and you guys are all working together now, can I at least get an intern of my own? Because I can’t do this on my own. You know what? Never mind. I’m gonna go ahead and place an ad.”

“Another question,” Sif said from beside Thor. “May we spar with the green one before he disappears?”

Behind her, Volstagg nodded excitedly. Fandral was noticeably less enthused. Hogun’s face betrayed nothing.

*

Skye leaned against the wall in Antoine’s room and watched as he packed. “Don’t you have a servant to do that for you?”

He chuckled. “Could. But I like taking care of myself.” He zipped up his duffel bag and slung it over his shoulder as he turned to face her. “I’d let you partner up, if you wanted.”

She laughed. “Think you can trick me? There’s no way I’m doing your packing. That’s all you.”

He grinned back. “Not asking you to. But I’m going home for a while to see Aunt Peggy and Sharon, and then I’m shipping out again. Thought I’d help rebuild.”

She raised an eyebrow. “What, do you have to put in, like, royal charity time?”

“Is it so bad that I just want to help? I worked with some of those people to save James. I want to help them out.” He lifted an eyebrow right back at her. “I’m just saying. You could go with. Travel a bit. See the world. I’m willing to bet James thinks you’ve paid your debt to society.”

“And if not, you’d have a word with him,” she teased.

“I would.”

He really would, she thought. She swallowed. “What’s the wifi situation there?”

His smile returned in full force. 

Skye got an idea. “And you know who would be a huge help? Jemma and Leo. You’re gonna love ‘em.”

*

“I have a mission for you, and I don’t think you’ll like it.”

Natasha’s face didn’t betray her alarm at Sharon’s words. She was still healing, though now the wounds didn’t ache at all. She only wore the bandages because Sharon and Peggy had insisted she follow the doctor’s orders. She fought the urge to play with one of the bandages as she tried to anticipate what Sharon might say. Surely, Sharon wasn’t so upset that Natasha had joined the battle and taken Antoine along - as if Natasha had really had a choice there - that she was going to punish Natasha in some way.

And yet, it hadn’t escaped her notice that May and Clint were both on duty. Two guards - Sharon’s usual number in the palace. Nick wasn’t around anymore, either, and no one would tell her where he’d gone.

“What is it?” she asked gruffly.

“I need you to go to the States and keep an eye on James.”

Natasha startled before she could help it. “What?”

“He knew Antoine was alive and didn’t tell me. He’s like a brother to me, and I need to know that I can trust him. Especially if he’s going to be in charge of Rikki’s education.” Sharon met her eyes for several seconds. “I trust you, Natasha. I think you like James. I know James likes you. I think you’ll like Rikki - she’s part of my family, and you’ve sworn fealty to my family, including her.”

Natasha hung her head, and when Sharon stopped speaking, an awkward silence filled the air. It was the first awkward silence they’d experienced since shortly after they’d met. “Did I do something? Was it Antoine at the battle?”

Sharon hesitated. “No,” she said at last. “I was glad to see Antoine there, even under the circumstances. And you, too. This is- Natasha, I’m trying to rebuild a country. I’m going to have to make treaties with people. Very restrictive treaties. The US is one of our closest allies, and I need to be able to trust them.”

“So you want me to spy on James?” Natasha nodded. That, she could do. Love was for children.

She smiled sadly. “Not necessarily. Just help him from time to time. His parents and advisors didn’t teach him about government the way mine did. And his determination to prove himself in the battle...” She trailed off, tapping her fingers against the desk in front of her. “I don’t want him getting himself killed or running the country into the ground,” she said at last. “And you won’t be spying on him all the time. I don’t have to know _everything_ he’s up to. Just the stuff that might impact us. You know what to watch out for. Maybe you’ll be able to find some time to have some... fun here and there.”

Natasha’s expression turned mulish as she caught Sharon’s drift. “I’ll spy on him for you.”

Sharon sighed. “Go pack. See me before you leave. I’ll need you to take some documents to him.”

*

“She’s gonna have to see that,” Sam said with a low whistle.

“That was kind of the point,” Steve admitted.

*

James smiled at the Skull as the man was shoved into the seat across from him. Steve and Akela, his newest bodyguard, tensed. “I’ve got some bad news, Schmidt. The item you were weaponizing is Asgardian in nature. Were you aware of that?”

The Skull glowered silently.

He met the Skull’s glare, his smile still in place. “The Asgardians believe you are. They are, of course, curious as to how you got your hands on the item and have requested that I let them question you about it. Given that the only thing I intend to do to you is execute you for your crimes, and that we can do that anytime, I’ve decided to let Thor take you to Asgard. There, you will be interrogated. If evidence of a crime is found - and I have a feeling they already have evidence against you - you’ll serve your time there before returning here to be put to death.”

He got to his feet. “The Asgardians don’t have the short life spans that we do. As a matter of fact, Thor assures that a mortal such as yourself will die long before your sentence is done.”

The Skull growled. “I am no mere mortal, boy. I’ll return to this planet. I’ll have what’s mine.”

James smiled and shrugged as if he didn’t give a damn. “Then I look forward to executing you.”

He nodded to Akela, who led the way out.

As Mack drove them home, Steve cleared his throat. “James. I hate to do this, but I’m going to need some time off. Just a week.”

James couldn’t help but remember the last time someone close to him had asked for time off. But Hydra was gone, and he suspected it was going to take more than a plane crash to kill Steve Rogers. Besides, with everything Steve had risked, with all he had done, he deserved a vacation. “Sure, pal. Take all the time you need.”

*

Clint nodded silently to Bobbi as she joined him at the window. “Heard you got desk duty.”

She looked at him ruefully. It might not have worked out between them, but they’d always gotten along. “All of us got R&R, Clint. The War’s over.”

“Hm.” He leaned against the wall. “May got a promotion you might be interested in. You should talk to her.” He shrugged. “If you don’t, that’s fine, too. The Queen can always use more bodyguards, and I’ve already put in a good word for you.”

She grinned. “I’ll talk to May. I don’t think bodyguarding is my thing.”

He nodded. “So you and Lance...”

Bobbi gave him a warning look. “Really?”

He held his hands up in surrender. “Just asking. He’s a mercenary, and there aren’t that many wars going on right now. Might not be another big one for a while. I’m just trying to be the big guy here and show you that I care.”

She rolled her eyes. “He’s going to be fine, Clint. You don’t have to worry about him, and you don’t have to worry about me.”

“I don’t worry about you.” Clint frowned. “But Lance has been following you around the palace ever since you got here and then hiding whenever you look around. If you want, I can shoot him.”

She grinned and shook her head. “He’s working up the guts to ask me out. Let him pretend to be sneaky a little longer.”

“‘Kay.” Clint glanced out the window. “Queen give you a medal yet?”

Bobbi nodded. “Yeah, you?”

“Yeah. Threatened to knight me, too. Said if I screw up badly enough, she might make me a lord. I think she actually would, too. She knows how to put the fear of God into a former carnie, that’s for damn sure.”

Bobbi mock-shuddered. “Don’t screw up, Clint.”

“Go see May, Bobbi.”

*

Nick stretched out in Hill’s office. “You’re no-nonsense. I like that.”

“Get to the point, Fury.”

He grinned at how she had just proven his point. He got the distinct impression she didn’t like him very much. He didn’t care. “I’m putting together a team.”

She snorted. “In case you haven’t noticed, there’s already a team. They’ve got a god, a super-soldier...”

“A spy team,” Nick clarified. “I want you on it.”

Hill blinked up at him. “Me.”

Nick nodded. “You were willing to face down the Hulk. You’re good at your job. You can keep your mouth shut. Stayed behind and directed the hunt for Hydra and kept the country safe when everyone else was gone. I want you.”

“I serve King James.”

“Yeah. I talked to him about it.”

Hill tapped her pencil against her papers. Pencil. Old school. He liked it. “And he wasn’t willing to give up Coulson or Skye or Victoria.”

Nick raised an eyebrow. “You think it’s a coincidence he gave them all promotions and not you? He knew I was going to ask you. So did Coulson.”

“Because he wasn’t willing to give up the others.”

Nick shrugged. “You, Coulson, and Hand are leaders. Coulson’s too attached to the country. Hand’s too attached to her girlfriend being here. Skye’s skills are going to make her valuable to anybody she works for...”

Hill glared at him. “And you think she’ll do tasks for us if I ask.”

Nick grinned. “You think she wouldn’t? Come on, Hill. Coulson’s the new spymaster around here. Hand’s handling palace security. Hartley’s not going anyplace Hand isn’t for a while. James and Coulson agree that you’re the best person out of you lot for this job. You’re smart, efficient, and judging by how you handled some of the Hydra guys, my kind of ruthless. So you can be a grunt with them or a mover and shaker with me.”

Hill pursed her lips and leaned back in her seat. “Tell me about the agency. What’s it called?”

His grin widened. “That’s where we ran into a problem. James wants to call it ‘SHIELD.’ So now we just need words to spell out the damn acronym or just leave it.”

She considered. “Coulson. He loves mind game stuff like- Damn it.”

His grin became a full-fledged smile as she caved. He wagged a finger at her. “Gotcha.”

*

Sharon stared at Pepper. “You can’t be serious,” she said again.

“Tony knows a wonderful cook in Dubai that we’d be happy to recommend, even pay for, if you like.”

Sharon turned to Happy. “You can’t be _serious._ ”

Happy shrugged. “With what they’re offering, you can’t afford me anymore, your Majesty.” He nodded to Pepper to reassure her. Yes, Sharon had a temper, but as upset as she might be with his resignation, she wasn’t going to take her anger out on the two of them. He’d been cooking for Sharon and driving her around since she was a teenager. He knew her well enough by now to know she wouldn’t penalize them for Happy changing jobs.

She scowled and leaned back in her seat. “You can’t be serious. Happy, you’ve worked here since my parents were in charge.”

He nodded. “And I’d like to try something new.”

Sharon groaned. “And where am I supposed to get my burgers now?”

Happy, at least, had known to anticipate that question. “I left Beth the recipe. She’s the only one who’s allowed to have it, understand? And you can always visit.”

She gave a dour nod. “Tell _everyone_ on that side of the pond that they’re not allowed to hire any more of my people away, understand? That goes mostly for Coulson. Tell him to lay off FitzSimmons.”

Pepper looked at Happy, who shrugged. Neither of them knew what she was talking about, though Happy imagined it wouldn’t be too hard to find out.

“Yes, ma’am.” He got to his feet and gave a bow, and she waved him away.

“Can’t be serious,” she muttered over her papers.

Happy held the door open for Pepper and closed it with a sigh. “I think I’m going to make her a burger before I go. Just to be on the safe side.”

*

Bobbi rapped her knuckles against May’s door, waiting for permission tbefore going in. “Barton said you wanted to see me?”

May nodded, her pen freezing above a report. “Fury’s working on building up a spy organization. Has he spoken with you yet?”

Bobbi shook her head.

“Good. I have concerns about how much he’s going to tell us about what he’s up to. And we need spies of our own if we want peace to last.” She looked over Bobbi. “I’m familiar with your file, and I know you’re capable. So I’d like to hire you as a spy. Either strictly for us or as a double-agent with Fury. Are you willing?”

Bobbi grinned. “It beats the hell out of R&R, ma’am.”

May’s smile was thin, but it was still a smile. “Good. You start immediately. Have a seat. I have a list of concerns, beginning with Aldrich Killian...”

*

Pierce glared at him. “You think you’re knowing-grin trick is going to work on me?”

Coulson, his hands clasped in front of him, shrugged. “Is it still a trick if I know something?”

Pierce daintily rubbed his nails on his uniform, and Coulson’s grin twitched a little wider. Orange really wasn’t Pierce’s color.

“You think you know more than I do? I was spymaster in this country for decades.”

Coulson nodded. “And we appreciate your years of dedicated service. Such as they were. And you, being as smart as you are, know what’s going to happen to you.”

“I’m going to be paraded around, humiliated, and executed.” Pierce sighed as if the real tragedy in his life was how boring its final act would be.

Coulson held up a finger. “Close, but not quite. You have the benefit of having helped raise our king. He doesn’t want you to suffer unnecessarily.”

Pierce watched him curiously, and Coulson sighed as if the real tragedy here was how much paperwork he’d have to fill out after this conversation.

“Then I reminded him that you were likely the one who sold his location out to the Rings, probably to position yourself as the next King after you killed King James’ parents. That, of course, would make you responsible for the rest of his unit dying. I might have also mentioned that, with you being spymaster for so long, there’s no telling how many secrets you have and how many you sold to the highest bidder, or gave away for free so you could benefit down the road.”

Pierce stared at him warily.

Coulson grinned. “I know a lot of things you don’t know. Where you’ll be and what will be happening to you for the foreseeable future, for instance. So yes, I’m amused. What is it you said earlier? Pain is order.”

*

“You know what I should have, now that I’m a hero?” Tony asked them both, chopsticks digging around for some chicken.

“Oh, God,” Rhodey moaned. “Pep, he’s doing it again.”

She grinned to herself. Tony might be known as a superhero now, and have a commendation from the King himself, but some things hadn’t changed. “What, did you think his ego was going to get smaller after he built a flying suit?”

“An _awesome_ flying suit,” Tony reminded her. “But like I was saying, I’d need a girlfriend.”

Rhodey tossed his chopsticks on the table. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this...”

“She’d worry about me.” Tony raised his voice to talk over him. “She’d be crazy about me, you know? But really proud of the man I’ve become.”

Pepper studied him out of the corner of her eye. “I’m proud of the man you’ve become, Tony.”

He smirked. “Then I guess that makes you my girlfriend.”

“But,” Pepper said sharply, pointing her chopstick at Rhodey. “Not half so proud as Rhodey.”

“That was cold,” Rhodey complained. “I was just about to say nice things about you.”

Tony looked between them and shook his head. He tossed a piece of chicken in his mouth and pointed his chopsticks at Pepper. “I’m holding you to the girlfriend thing,” he told her.

*

Natasha turned as she heard James enter and held the thick envelope out toward him. “Sharon sent me to give you this.”

She almost felt bad as the light in his eyes dimmed, and she turned back to the painting of his mother so she wouldn’t have to see it. She was here to spy on him. To help him not ruin the country. She understood why - it benefitted the UK for the US to do well, but at the end of the day, she was still spying on him. She swallowed but didn’t speak as James opened the envelope.

He frowned and handed her a smaller envelope from inside. “That’s for you.”

She took it and turned it over. Her name was written in Sharon’s handwriting. Confused, she opened it and read the letter inside. _Natasha. I’m only a little sorry for the deception, but whatever debt you think you have to repay to my family, you repaid long ago. I’ve sent James a draft of a law so each of us can marry common people like you (you know what I mean). Live a little. I miss you already, and you haven’t even come to say good-bye yet. P.S. - Forget what I said about repaid debt. If you hear something that could benefit my country, pass it on. Say hi to James, Rikki, Skye, and Sam for me. And Steve, too, if you happen to see him. I guess._

Her eyes flew to James’ face, watching his expression change as he read the papers Sharon had sent him. She hastily committed Sharon’s letter to memory so she could burn it later - it wouldn’t do for a letter to exist asking her to spy on a king - and tucked it away. “What does Sharon say?”

He jumped and quickly stuffed the papers back in the envelope. He glanced at Sam and Victoria behind him, then swallowed. “Actually... If you’re free for dinner sometime, I can tell you. Or lunch, maybe?”

Natasha smiled. The thought of dating someone, of having a life with someone that wasn’t a mission, was terrifying enough to send chills up her spine.

She’d never let that stop her before. “I’m free tonight, actually.”

He beamed at her, a real, genuine smile that lit up his face, and the chill in her spine faded to nothing.

*

“You, again,” Sharon teased as she descended the stairs.

Steve turned and gave a little wave. He nodded to Sitwell, who nodded back and stood aside. “I realized I owed you.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re an idiot. You know that, right? You’ve helped save my life at least twice now and helped end a seven-decade-long war. I’d say you’ve done-” She finally noticed his expression and frowned. “Oh, no. I’m not going to like this, am I.”

He waved his hand to the portrait gallery. “In case you’re wondering, I had them nail it into the wall. I told you I owed you.”

She sniffed and swept past him. “I guess after this you can head home and never return, so let’s get this over with.”

He frowned as he followed her. The teasing tone was gone now, and he wondered if it was a bad sign that she sounded troubled. He hurried to catch up and stopped in front of the portrait. Beth and Clint had helped him cover it with a sheet, and he nodded to Beth once he saw that Sharon was ready and waiting.

The sheet fell, and he watched Sharon’s expression closely as it went slack.

“I... don’t hate it,” she said at last.

He looked back at the portrait, worried now. It was a portrait of Sharon playing soccer with the servants’ children, a stack of folders in the corner with her crown on it. It was how he’d first seen her as her, not a royal with her hair and makeup done to perfection. He’d... he’d really thought she might like it.

She hesitated. “Thank you,” she murmured. “I’ll... I’ll thank James, too, of course.”

Steve nodded. Shit. Shit shit shit. Maybe he should have done something more traditional after all. Or painted her at an orphange - she’d liked visiting orphanages. The soccer portrait probably reminded her of how he’d distracted her and she’d gotten hit in the head. Maybe it reminded her of Rumlow. Damn it. He should have thought of that.

She held her folders to her chest, tapping on their edge. The familiar crease reappeared between her brows, and Steve wondered if it was bad that he wanted to sketch it. If she really did want to get rid of him, he realized, he’d have to stop sketching her. It wouldn’t feel right to continue, knowing she didn’t appreciate drawings of herself. He’d come to respect her too much to do that.

She leaned in closer to the frame. “‘Soccer?’ You named a portrait of me playing football in my own country ‘Soccer?'”

“I’m not calling it ‘Football!'” Steve insisted. “I have pride.”

“It’s my coronation portrait, isn’t it? It’s in England, isn’t it? Here, we have football. And not the sort where you need fifty pounds of protection and just need to be heavier than the other guy. You need skill to play football here! How can you not be proud of that?”

“You only play soccer because you’re not strong enough for real football!” Steve retorted.

She blinked at him. “You’ve never seen a rugby match, have you. Broken noses and torn skin. It puts your little American sports to shame!”

Steve snorted. “A game of catch while running! Yeah, sure, sign me up.”

He froze as he saw she was sizing him up. Oh, no. “I could, you know. I’m Queen. I could sign you up and tell James you’re playing.”

He groaned. “ _No._ ”

“What does Captain America become if he lives in England?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. Pretty sure I’m retired now.”

“What does he become if he lives in Scotland?”

“What?”

“Ireland? Wales? Canada?”

He rubbed the back of his head. “I don’t know. Still pretty sure I’m retired.”

She took a deep breath and lifted her chin. “Date me.”

He stared at her. “What?”

“Date me. If you want. You should date me. We should go eat someplace, just us. Like a date.”

He couldn’t stop staring at her. He looked at Beth and Sitwell; both pretended they weren’t there. “I’m a commoner.”

“And you step on my feet every time we dance,” she added, undeterred. “You’ll have to work on that if you agree to date me. But there’s going to be a law soon. Parliament has to acknowledge that I need to marry and that there aren’t enough nobles around anymore that I stand any real chance of doing so without marrying a commoner.”

“Marry?” he echoed. He swallowed thickly.

She shrugged. “You can say no. But since you might be retiring, maybe you could use a job. Keep you off the streets, out of trouble. King consorts tend to only get into trouble when they talk to the press, and you won’t have to do that if you don’t want to. Besides, Ms. Everhart seems like she could help, and so long as the word ‘soccer’ never crosses your lips while you’re here...”

He hesitated. To say this wasn’t a discussion he’d anticipated was an understatement. And Sharon was laying everything out so squarely and giving him a chance to back out. “What if I wanted to ask you out instead.”

“You can’t. I’m Queen. I have to do the asking.”

Steve frowned at her. “So what, I have to wait for you to pop the question? If the question’s getting popped?”

“Yep. It’s something we’ve got on the books here that James’ family never had to test. The monarch does the asking, whether the monarch’s a man or a woman.”

“Hm.” Steve bit his lip. “Why me? You never told me why you wanted to dance with me in the first place.”

“Yes, I did. You just didn’t like me at the time.” She glanced away as she said it, and Steve felt a familiar pang of guilt about all the things he’d thought about her before he’d actually gotten to know her. “You thought I was bullying James, and you challenged me on it.” She focused on him again. “I need someone to challenge me, Steve. I _want_ someone to challenge me. And I want someone that I know isn’t going to let others get pushed around or victimized in any way. I want someone like that, someone who’s willing to risk his life on an experiment so he can save other people, even if it means I’ll be with someone who’s going to step on my feet.”

He blinked at her. “You like me because I fight with you?”

She grinned; it wasn’t the confident grin he was accustomed to. “I like you because you’re not afraid to.”

He cleared his throat and looked around uncomfortably. James had tried to set him up with people. The King and Queen had tried to set him up with people. It had never gone well. The thought that anyone would ever ask him out... “It’s not... Is it because I’m different now?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Do you think you’ll fight me less now compared to before?”

He shook his head, his eyes on the carpet.

She stood awkwardly. “Okay, so... How long are you here?”

“A week.” He hesitated, and the silence stretched between them again.

Sharon nodded and took a step back. “Okay. I’ll see you around, I guess. And thank you for the portrait. Except for the name, I really do like it.” She stood for another moment, waiting to see if he’d respond to her little dig, then turned on her heel and headed back down the hall.

He sprang into action. Even after all the tests they’d done, he was still surprised how fast he reached her side. “A date can’t hurt. But if you’re thinking marriage, I want a say in whether you ask or not.”

She looked at him in shock. “A- Yeah. That’s reasonable.”

“And I want to find a way to keep close to James and Sam. They’re my best friends.”

She nodded. “I have friends there, too.”

“And family. Antoine’s still there.” 

Sharon shook her head. “He’s already back in the field, trying to make sure the peace holds up.”

Steve stuck his hands in his pockets as they walked along. “What if I stepped on your foot sometimes for old times’ sake?”

*

“Your plan failed.”

Loki suppressed his glare. He needed this man. “My goal was for the Midgardians to kill as many of each other as possible.”

“And instead they have peace.”

The man- no, more of a creature... sounded amused. One day soon, Loki would teach this fool not to disrepect him.

“They have the illusion of peace," Loki corrected. “They have lost millions upon millions of lives and are desperate to believe that this peace will last. Slowly, they will dismantle their defenses. And then, we may strike and lay waste to them.”

The creature studied the image in the orb. “And you want nothing but their suffering?”

Loki smiled and corrected him again. “Their immense suffering.”

The lines on the creature’s chin stretched as he smiled. “Then we have an accord.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic has been... insane. I have to admit, when I saw the words "modern royalty AU" I'd never even thought about it. And then I started wondering how it could possibly work, and the next thing I knew, I had the first five or six chapters written within a month. It got so large I had to break it apart just so my word processor could open it in a timely fashion - though that may have been due to computer mishaps; my computer crashed multiple times while writing this. Point is, writing this fic has been more of an adventure than I could have hoped, and I loved every second.
> 
> I don't know if anyone's read this far, but you may have noticed that some of the characters are entirely in character and some had to grow into their roles. I think (I hope) the worst offender was Sharon. That's because Marvel wasn't the only inspiration for the fic; I also tried to tie in some stuff from history. I mentioned that some people were afraid of Sharon's temper, and that's actually a trick Sharon borrowed from Elizabeth I - which isn't a trait Sharon has used in any canon so far. If you're interested in how some women using fear to keep people in line, I recommend Elizabeth I biographies. Some of Peggy's adventures during the War were based on Nancy Wake's real adventures, and there was also some stuff from Noor Inayat Khan that I wanted to get in but couldn't. Both excellent people to read up on, if anyone's curious. Bonus points to Noor - she really was a royal. Peggy's War storyline was also influenced by a real-life princess I read about once who disguised herself as a man so she could travel behind enemy lines and help the Allies.
> 
> When I was writing this, I left some stuff out intentionally. I had no intention of writing a sequel, but generally, when I rule something out (like writing a modern royalty AU), my next thought is "But how COULD I do it if I did?" The next thing I know, I've done it. By the time I was finished writing it, I was SURE there wouldn't be a sequel. But I've already got some stuff that I'm considering, damn it.
> 
> Some stuff I didn't mean to leave out. Originally, Pepper was going to drop into the kitchen at Buckingham and help Happy and Beth fight off Hydra, a way to tie in Beth's deleted scenes from the Avengers. I wanted Peggy and the Commandos (and Angie, Jemma, and Fitz) to have a battle for the ages at the castle, too, but I couldn't tie it in well enough. Rest assured, though, Angie is going to renovate and decorate the crap out of that castle.
> 
> When I started writing this, I was convinced, utterly and totally, that I was writing it for maybe ten people, tops, and I wasn't even sure they'd stick around for chapter two. That more than twice that number have enjoyed the work enough to leave twice that many kudos, and to leave comments on top of that... you will never know how grateful I am. 
> 
> This is, obviously, a rather long piece (over a hundred pages - eep!), and I haven't had a beta reader. So I'm sure there are errors great and small throughout. If you see any, I'd love to know so I can fix them accordingly.
> 
> If you have any questions, I'll happily answer those, too.
> 
> And if you're like me and can't pull your head out of the story yet, then... Hydra is still out there. Killian is up to no good. Loki has a new alliance. Skye still has a dad somewhere. And Raina would have been involved in this story if I hadn't considered it too late and been hesitant to rewrite the whole thing to that point. So we'll just say that she's out there, noticing things and trying to manipulate them in her favor. My point is, it's a big world out there, and our heroes have only earned a reprieve, not a happy ending...


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